GONE FISHIN' or What Happens in Fish Camp Stays in Fish Camp
by NokuMarieDeux
Summary: Conducting a fishing expedition is a tough assignment, but someone's gotta take charge. When Slim falls through on a promise, Jess selflessly volunteers to take Andy on a camping trip he'll NEVER forget!
1. Chapter 1

**GONE FISHIN'**

Or…

 _ **What Happens in Fish Camp Stays in Fish Camp**_

 _ **Howdy, folks...**_ _Harper Andrew Sherman here at the keyboard. My other half, Harper Grace Sherman—better known to y'all as Gracie or Nonie—has been pecking at me to help her with the family storytelling. 'They're as much your people as mine, Harp,' she argues. 'An' some a these tales're best told from a man's perspective.' I believe she's right about that._

 _This seems as good a place and time as any to get started, while Gracie and our granddaughter Marybeth Harper Sherman are off on an out-of-state jaunt to some sort of Western festival featuring retired television cowboy stars. Can't help but wonder what's the attraction when they've got a genuine decrepit old retired cowboy of their own sitting right here at the dining room table. Gracie says, 'You wouldn't understand, Ole Man.' I reckon she's right about that, too._

 _So, anyway... this story I'm about to relate—about a memorable fishing expedition that didn't quite turn out as planned—wasn't written down verbatim by any one journal-keeper or memoir-writer, the subject matter being on the delicate side and all. Like a crazy quilt top, it's been pieced together from many different sources—an innuendo here, an insinuation there, a thinly-veiled reference elsewhere, a double entendre over yonder. And then pinned over the backing of my great-grandfather Andrew Patrick Sherman's journal entries for that summer... his_ private _journal, that is—not his later published material._

 _One thing you should understand right off about my great-granddad... with both parents having passed before his twelfth birthday, it fell to his fourteen-years-older brother Matthew (known as 'Slim' and who, incidentally, happens to be my wife's great-grandfather) to take on raising that boy and shepherd him through those precarious teenage years. All things considered, Slim did a creditable job. Andy measured up to everything his mother Mary Grace could have desired—kind, respectful, mannerly and studious. He was also introverted, shy and tongue-tied around girls... which state of affairs seemed to have resolved itself once he got back to school in St. Louis after the aforementioned fishing trip._

 _Now, had Andy_ not _gone away from Laramie, he no doubt would have been introduced to the joys of the flesh at a much earlier age and in the manner accepted for that era.. which is to say, by his father, or an understanding uncle, older brother, or other mentor whose responsibility it was to underwrite an initiatory visit to one of the town's more discreet houses of ill repute for a prearranged assignation with a skilled social worker. On life's journey, this was a milestone young Andrew had yet to achieve at sixteen although he was fairly well versed in theory._

 _As you might have guessed, however, once Jess Harper—Andy's best friend and trouble magnet of the first order—got involved, anything that might have been 'usual' in Andy's life flew right out the window. We join him now as he's steaming west toward home and three glorious summer months of freedom from school..._

 _Chapter 1:_ **CULTURE SHOCK**

" _Home... home... home..."_

The high carbon steel alloy wheels of Union Pacific's _Plainsman Zephyr_ —rhythmically clacking on burnished tracks—had started whispering this word to Andrew Sherman somewhere between the community of Hillsdale and the territorial capital of Cheyenne when—at a long curve—he'd caught his first glimpse of the Laramie Range in the distance. Seventy-something more miles and two hours from now he'd be there. Home... for three whole months!

" _Wyoming. Wyoming. Wyoming."_

Although the train zipped along at an astonishing eighty-five miles an hour over flat terrain, it'd be making a stop at Cheyenne. After that its speed would diminish significantly as it approached the long grade leading to the pass beneath Sherman Peak at eight thousand feet above sea level. Some miles south of that lay home—the ranch on which he'd been born and raised and had never left until a year and a half ago, not counting a couple of trips by stagecoach to Cheyenne. The last one had been for the purpose of taking his prep school entrance exams.

" _Laramie. Laramie. Laramie."_

The next stop, his final destination, was the township of Laramie, nestled against the western foothills of the Laramie Range. From there he and whoever came to pick him up would have to backtrack twelve miles along the stage road to get to the Sherman ranch. Would they come by spring wagon... or would they take the stage? In his latest letter, his brother had mentioned that although the relay station they'd operated for several years was still a going concern, Overland had advised that the line would probably be discontinued in another year or two.

It had once been Slim's greatest aspiration to attend university but, as that had never come to pass (being caught up in the War of Secession for one reason), he'd settled his dreams on his younger brother. Andy'd been packed off to the prestigious Smith Academy—almost one thousand miles away in St. Louis, Missouri—at the start of the summer term, a half-year behind his peer group. The price of his late admission, however, had been having to attend remedial classes to catch up while all the other scholars enjoyed the three months of summer vacation.

This would be only the third trip home in the eighteen months Andy'd been away. The one previous—six months ago during the break between winter and spring terms—had not been a great success. With inclement weather and snow on the ground most of the time, there hadn't been much to do besides hunker indoors playing cards and dominoes and board games. Yes, of course he'd been happy to see his brother again... and his pal Jess. Not so happy to find himself having to share their attentions with the now ten-year-old orphan they'd adopted. That visit had also been occasion of Andy's introduction to the _other_ new member of the household, Daisy Cooper—who'd been employed to keep house and look after Michael Williams. Andy'd had to work real hard at tamping down the jealousy that threatened to crawl up from his gut and leak out of his mouth.

A lot of other changes had been made to the house, so that it had felt strange and unfamiliar those first few days. The renovated kitchen now boasted a copper boiler fed by the stove and a sink with its own pump. From plans and diagrams published in _Farmer's Almanac_ , Slim and Jess had constructed an icebox that saved hundreds of steps every day trudging to the icehouse dug into the side of the hill behind the barn or laboring up and down the stairs to the root cellar.

Andy's former bedroom, which he'd shared with Jonesy, was now 'Aunt' Daisy's. The old storeroom off the kitchen, which used to be Ma and Pa's bedroom but had fallen into disrepair, had been fixed up and later reconfigured into a smaller bedroom for Mike, with built-in bunks. A new dogtrot passageway led from the kitchen past Mike's door to a washroom off the back of the house. Slim and Jess still shared the big bedroom, just as they'd always done except for when Jess would be having one of his sulks and would steam off to sleep in the mostly unfinished original bunkhouse attached to the barn. Went without saying that with a woman in the house there'd been many other rearrangements of furniture and upgrades to the general decor. All in all, Andy kind of liked the atmosphere... after he got used to it.

Naturally, it _had_ been the jolliest time—Thanksgiving and then Christmas—to be home with his people. Andy couldn't help but smile, recognizing some of the toys and trying to remember when he was as young as Mike, marveling at the presents under the tree on Christmas morning. Mike regarded Andy as one of the grown-ups and was _so_ excited to be sharing his bedroom with a big guy who _ooohd_ and _ahhhd_ appropriately over treasures accumulated or inherited.

The long rail journey back to St. Louis had given Andy ample time to ponder on what had changed, really... was it the folks back home? The ranchhouse itself? Or was it him? By the time he got off the train, with old faithful Jonesy there to greet him, he'd decided the change was, indeed, in himself. He loved school. He loved learning. He also loved his home and the people in it. He missed them terribly. And his wild pets, some of which he'd had to return to the wild and others taken on by friends.

But he was older and wiser now—just turned sixteen two weeks ago on May thirteenth—and knew he couldn't have his cake and eat it, too. He couldn't bring himself, yet, to speculate on how life would be different once he graduated from college. That was way off in the future. Most importantly, Andy understood that his place had not been usurped by an outsider. Rather, the Sherman household had simply gained another family member... much the same way it had assimilated Jess. Two new family members, counting Aunt Daisy.

The train slowed even further as it approached steeper grades. Through the windows of his private berth Andy viewed enormous granite formations—the Vedauwoo Rocks... eroded into bold, fantastical shapes called 'hoodoos'. He and Jess had ridden up there many times, hunting for petroglyphs and fossils. Slim had warned them to look but not touch or remove anything—said the land was sacred to the natives and that they ought to respect that. Andy hadn't quite understood the significance at the time, but classes in geology and humanities had given him new lens through which to appreciate primitive humans' regard for natural phenomena.

The young man sighed and returned to the notations he was making in a ruled copybook. One of his summer assignments was to write a report of his activities during the three months off. It had to include elements of science, geography and mathematics. Extra points for detailed descriptions and presentation. Bonus points for spelling, grammar and syntax! Even more points for sociological and cultural comparisons! Andy didn't find this at all onerous.

At some point in the previous term he'd found that he quite liked writing and was good at it. He was even giving some consideration to changing his career path from veterinary science to journalism, which Slim would have a fit over. His instructors praised his vivid imagination and articulation when it came to his stories of life on the ranch. If only they knew! These were not made up... but actual events which he, Andrew Sherman, had lived through and participated in.

When he mentioned he'd actually met Samuel Langhorne Clemens—that the man had stayed at their relay station on his way through Laramie and shared a meal with the Shermans—everyone had laughed and called him a big fat liar. Then Mister Clemens had come to Smith to give a lecture and Andy had managed to attract his attention. Mister Clemens remembered him and made a fuss over him and took him out to dinner in front of God and everyone! The great Mark Twain himself. Andy made a note in the margins to look for that book Mister Clemens had autographed and sent to him months afterward— _'Roughing It'_. Andy was pretty sure that that incident—and the respect it garnered him from his fellow students and professors—was the seed that had taken root in his head about maybe becoming a journalist. Being somebody. There again, this wasn't something he had to make a decision on right away. Hell, he was only a prep school junior... not even in college yet!

Andy wouldn't have minded riding in one of those new Pullman Palace cars just for the novelty, but a private compartment was plumb wonderful. It had that nifty pull-up table with a gas lamp positioned just so for easy reading at night, a plush banquette seat that made into a comfy bed, and its own private toilet. He could have his meals delivered if he didn't feel like going to the dining car. And he didn't even have to change cars when they changed locomotives—first class cars were just recoupled to the next line.

Andy reminded himself of his instructions from Jonesy upon arrival in Laramie: He was to move several cars back—past the dining and club cars and into one of the coach cars—before debarking the train. Because, if Slim knew how much money had been splurged on first class he'd have an absolute hissy fit… not to mention running fits and blind staggers if he found out where that money came from! Ordinarily Jonesy wouldn't have condoned keeping secrets from Slim. In this case, however, he determined that discretion was the better part of domestic peace: what Slim didn't know about he couldn't fly into a rage about.

Any guilt Andy was experiencing at hiding something from his brother was offset by the knowledge that the majority of his clandestine income was being shrewdly invested for him toward a future goal. Jonesy himself had given his blessing, saying that at least once in his life every young man should experience travel in luxury accommodations.

Jebediah Jones—'Jonesy"—had lived with the Shermans as long as Andy could remember, ever since (so Andy'd been told) his wife had left him and returned to her home town of St. Louis, taking their daughter with her. Although his general health was fair for a man of his years, Jonesy suffered from orthopedic problems that had made ranch work increasingly difficult for him. Doctor Whatleigh recommended retirement.

Not too long before Andy was to leave for boarding school, Jonesy had received an appeal from his daughter Alice Merriweather, a grown woman now. His long-estranged wife, Elizabeth—Alice's mother—had passed away and Alice herself recently widowed. Would her father consider coming to live with her and the four granddaughters he'd never met?

It had been agreed, then, that Jonesy would accompany Andy to St. Louis and that the boy would board with him at the Merriweather home and attend day classes rather than live in the dormitories. Malcolm Merriweather had left his family well-off financially and Alice owned, outright, a three-story brick residence—plenty of room for all—in the suburb of Ladue, which was really way out in the country from downtown St. Louis.

At the same time, Jonesy's long-time lady friend (known to Andy as Nurse Emma from Doctor Whatleigh's office) proclaimed that now that he was legally free to remarry, it was about damned time they did. So they did... to everyone's shock and amazement. Andy wasn't supposed to know about the new Mrs. Jones' private business affairs (aside from nursing), but he did... sort of. Jonesy had euphemistically referred to her establishment as a gentlemen's social club, from which she had promptly retired, having sold out to her partner.

As if Andy didn't know what a whorehouse was. Sheesh! Jess had explained all about that stuff two years ago. After which Slim'd beat the puddin' out of Jess because he said it was information too indecent for Andy to know about at fourteen. Andy had written an essay about that and Professor Engle had kept him after class to tell him he was getting an elusive and almost unheard of 'E' for 'Excellent'. Professor Engle said that although he'd laughed so hard he almost pissed himself, he wasn't going to allow Andy to read it out loud in class because he'd be having mortified parents coming after him with tar and feathers.

So anyway, the three of them—Jonesy, Mrs. Jonesy (or Miss Emma, she said to call her, although he sometimes forgot and addressed her as Nurse Emma) had traveled together by train, coach class (very uncomfortable!). Miss Emma and Alice got along like a house afire. Of the four granddaughters, two were older than Andy and two were younger. They all attended the Mary Institute, female seminary and sister school to the all-male Smith Academy. Andy liked them well enough, he supposed... but he was really more interested in some of their friends. Not that he ever had much opportunity to spend any quality time getting to know any of them.

In order to keep up appearances and enable the newcomers to be comfortably slotted into the Merriweather's social circle, relationships had to be redefined for public consumption. The man Andy had known his entire life as Jonesy was henceforth to be referred to as _Uncle Jeb_ — _Father_ and _Grandfather_ to his daughter and granddaughters. Mrs. Emma Jones became _Aunt Emma_ to all. As Andy had been presented as a 'second cousin' to the four girls, he was to address each as _Cousin_ in the presence of outsiders, and their mother as _Aunt Alice._ If anyone inquired, his relations 'back home' included an older brother Matthew, a younger brother Michael, a cousin Jess and a great-aunt Daisy. When Andy questioned the necessity for all this subterfuge, he was informed he had an awful lot to learn about big city society—it was all about who you were, who your people were, and where you belonged.

The classic Victorian house, painted peach and mint green, sat on a double lot about a mile away from both schools. Mr. and Mrs. Jones and Master Andrew Sherman lived on the ground floor. Mrs. Merriweather and the Misses Hortense, Janine and twins Elvira and Evangeline Merriweather had their rooms on the second floor. On the third floor, in rooms with slanted walls under the eaves and dormer windows, dwelt two maids, Moira (a merry Irish lass with red hair and green eyes) and Cosette (an exotic cafe-au-lait Creole with slanted golden eyes, her hair always concealed beneath an elaborate tignon).

The house itself was smartly enclosed in a waist-high brick wall surmounted by an elaborately scrolled wrought-iron fence with rapier-sharp fleur de lis points, so that passers-by could easily admire the well-kept shrubs and flower beds surrounding the foundations and the mature oaks and dogwoods shading the yard. A wrought-iron garden gate opened from the sidewalk to the walkway up to the front door. Potted palms and hanging ferns complemented the plantation rockers and wicker furniture on the deep shaded verandah.

Around the corner, double iron gates gave entry to the rear of the property where a modest brick stable sheltered a perfectly matched pair of dappled grey carriage horses and a gleaming three-seat surrey with roll-up isinglass side panels, parked under a shelter. Over the stable in a small apartment accessed by an outside stairway lived Othello Jones (no relation), a wiry little black man who served as groundskeeper, stable manager, driver, handyman and sometime butler. A bellpull located in the kitchen connected to a cord strung across the backyard to a bell in the apartment, so that Othello could be summoned when needed.

Every weekday morning after breakfast, Othello had the surrey pulled up to the porte cochere at the kitchen door, ready to convey Andy and the young ladies to their respective schools, from which he retrieved them every afternoon. On Saturdays he drove them on outings or into town for shopping, and on Sundays everyone attended First Methodist Church, except the maids who walked to Mass at Our Lady of Constant Sorrows inbetween breakfast and lunch.

Andy's spacious corner bedroom at the back of the house had tall windows through which he had a nice view of the stable and the tiny paddock the horses were turned into when not in their box stalls. Jonesy (Andy still thought of him that way privately) had arranged that as he thought it would be a comfort to a lad suffering horse-deprivation. And there was a large park not far away with miles of bridle trails and rental stables where Andy and the young ladies went hacking on weekends.

Andy's room featured a double bed with goose-down mattress and pillows. The bed coverings and drapes and rugs all matched in rust-brown and honey-colored fabrics—not in any way girly. There was an overstuffed chair with an ottoman, a side table and a good strong reading light. All the furniture was unadorned Shaker-style golden oak—a kneehole desk with many drawers, a bookcase, a nightstand, a clothespress and double chest of drawers. Over the bed hung a stunning lithograph of _The Horse Fair_ , which (Andy'd been told) was a reproduction of a very famous oil painting by a French lady artist called Rosa Bonheur. Another wall featured yet another well-known reproduction— _Pharoah's Chariot Horses_ by John Frederick Herring, Senior.

The rest of the home was furnished in an atypical, comparatively restrained Victorian fashion. Every room had a comfortably lived-in aura, so that a country boy didn't have to be constantly on guard against breaking some knickknack or dustcatcher. He'd seen pictures of such dwellings, of course, in books and magazines so was well aware of lifestyle differences between urban and rural, town and country. That wasn't quite the same as _living_ in such a house, though. It even had a _name!_

'Camellia Hall', at the corner of Ninth Avenue and Thirteenth Street, sported every sort of modern amenity and spiffy new inventions—things that Andy'd only read about in magazines. To a boy accustomed to toting water inside from an outside well, utilizing an outhouse and bathing once a week in a galvanized tin tub in the parlor, Camellia Hall represented _the future_.

Although there was a decorative and functional fireplace in every room, the entire home was heated by a coal-fired furnace in the basement and a system of vents called a 'hypocaust' actually invented by the ancient Romans and not at all a new invention! Every room had wall-mounted gas light jets. Piped city water under pressure supplied an enormous cistern in the back yard, which in turn fed an internal plumbing system and a 'hot water tank'—a copper reservoir in the kitchen.

Most impressive of all was a room that opened off the back hallway between Andy's bedroom and the kitchen. Aunt Alice and Aunt Emma called it 'the water closet' and it was as big as a bedroom. The girls called it 'the bathroom'—a marvel of pine-panelled wainscotting, white-and-black tiled floor, white marbled vanity, a polished oak commode concealing a porcelain toilet that flushed via a pull chain from a cistern high on the wall, and an enormous pedestalled copper tub big enough to lie down in. One narrow door opened to a well-stocked linen closet and another to a room full of racks for hanging things that needed drying—like towels. Andy was informed that he was expected to bathe, at the very least, _every other day!_ His and Jonesy's and Aunt Emma's names were added to the rota posted on the door. With ten people and only one bathroom under one roof, some sort of schedule was needed.

At first Andy had been awed and overwhelmed, afraid his manners weren't up to snuff and his very being fairly shrieked 'country hick', certain he'd be jeered and laughed at. There'd been a little bit of that from the girls to begin with, until their mother took them in hand and read them the riot act. Just wait, she'd said. Someday Grandfather and I will take you on a jaunt to Wyoming to visit the place where I was born and raised! Then you, my darlings, will be the tenderfeet wandering in the wilderness and your handsome cousin here will be having to teach _you_ how to milk a cow, chase a broody hen off her nest to rob her eggs, catch and break a wild horse, round up and brand cattle, hunt and fish and use a six-gun to protect yourself against outlaws and Indians!

Andy had been embarrassed and the girls suitably impressed. After that, under Aunt Alice's guidance, his four new 'cousins' had pitched in and gone out of their way to ease his introduction into their society. He hadn't had too much trouble at school, as half the student body were boys just like him... sent in from the provinces to be shaped and molded into gentlemen and scholars.

Now, a year and a half later and a good five inches taller, Andrew Sherman could hold his own in anyone's drawing room. The transition wasn't as difficult as feared—he was smart, he had good sense and already possessed excellent manners, pounded into him since toddlerhood thanks to his mother and later his brother.

Aunt Alice loved entertaining. Although the holiday social season had ended before the arrival of the Laramie Three, their presence occasioned another round of parties welcoming Aunt Alice's father, her new stepmother and her new 'nephew.' Andy soon learned which cutlery to use at what stages of dinner, and how to dress properly for different types of occasions from afternoon teas to full-blown formal dinners. As the girls were schooled in ballroom dancing, Andy learned to dance and soon became a sought-after partner in the frequent inter-school dances between Mary Institute and Smith Academy.

All the females in that house spoke French fluently, except for Moira whose thick brogue was barely recognizable as English. Cosette _could_ speak English but refused to do so. Andy learned to speak a passable French.

Aunt Alice and all four girls played piano and took lessons at the baby grand Steinway holding pride of place in the front parlor. Andy was mesmerized by the beautiful tones emanating from the sleek black instrument, which sounded nothing at all like the tinny plunkings produced by Jonesy's battered old upright in the kitchen back home. As music appreciation played such a large part in St. Louis' social affairs, Andy soon found himself taking instruction as well.

Andy sensed and heard the _Zephyr_ losing momentum as the engineer began braking in small increments, preparing for the long gradual descent to the flatlands of the Laramie basin, where it would cross the new steel bridge spanning the river and sigh to a halt at the station. Good Lord! Over the pass already? Where had his mind been? Without purposefully intending to, Andy himself was also braking down.

Prior to his first visit home, not quite a year after leaving it, Jonesy had taken him aside for a private talk about what to expect when he got there. The old man had always tended toward the long-winded and pontifical whenever he felt a need to dispense advice. As a child Andy had dreaded these recurring lectures on The Meaning of Life, Doing the Right Thing, and Growing Up Smart. As the years had gone by, however, he'd come to understand that Jebediah Jones was a pretty savvy old coot when it came to explaining why things were the way they were and how an attitude adjustment here and a behavior modification there on Andy's part now would save a great deal of tears and wear-and-tear on his behind later.

That particular talk hadn't been about bad behavior, because he'd outgrown _that_. It was about the fact that after eight months immersed in an alien culture, he'd outgrown _ranch life_ and, frankly, the outlooks and mindsets of the folks who still lived there. He'd attained a much broader view of the world in comparison to this little out-of-the-way corner of the country. _His_ world had expanded... _theirs_ had not. What Jonesy meant, in simpler terms, was don't go high-steppin' in there with a big head, all full of yourself, and expect them to like it... or understand you. Remember who you are, who you _were_... and just be yourself... as they love and remember you. As they'd parted company on the St. Louis station platform for this trip, Jonesy had recapped that earlier conversation... just in case Andy might have forgotten.

While the train slowly rolled to a halt, Andy gathered up his belongings and slogged from car to car until he reached coach class, two cars away from baggage, where he had a steamer trunk and two crates full of presents and useful items for the folks at home. Before descending the steps, he used his elevated position to scan the crowd. He saw them before they saw him... Slim and Jess on Alamo and Traveler. Aunt Daisy on the seat of the spring wagon, in the shade of a parasol. Mike hopping up and down on the seat beside her.

Andy had to blink back tears at the thought that his arrival was so important that the entire family had turned out for it. He waved. They saw him and waved back. Slim and Jess jumped down from their horses and pounded in his direction. Mike tried to follow suit but Aunt Daisy snagged him by the back of the belt.

It was good to be home.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2:_ **A BROKEN PROMISE**

 _Two weeks later..._ Andy knew what was coming the minute Slim pulled the buckboard to a halt in the yard with a set look to his face instead of the customary wide smile he usually had for his younger brother. Andy knew right then and there the fishing trip they'd been planning since his arrival wasn't going to happen.

Together they unhitched the team in unhappy silence, then Slim abruptly vanished into the house, uncharacteristically leaving the team for Andy to put up... without so much as a please or thank you. Jess eeled out of the shadows of the barn and took over one of the horses.

"What's goin' on?" he asked quietly, loosening buckles and straps and peering over Jake's back at Andy's face—at the same time noting that five months ago the boy'd still been too short to even _see_ over the back of a fifteen hand horse. He'd shot up at least five or six more inches since then.

"Nothin' that ain't happened before... a hundred times!" Andy snapped, heaving a tangle of harness leathers over the top rail of the corral.

" _Isn't_..." his friend mouthed with a sly grin, "not _ain't..._ "

"Dammit, Jess... don't _you_ start!"

The grin faded. "Can't be all that bad. I was right there inside the barn door... didn't hear 'im say nothin' bad to you."

"Didn't have to. I could see it in his face. We're not going." Andy was applying the currycomb to Willie's hide with such forceful strokes that the chestnut gelding must have thought he was being attacked by an entire squadron of flies. He craned his head around in irritation and smartly nipped Andy on the buttocks.

"Eeeeeyowwwww!" Andy jumped and the currycomb flew right out of his hand, bouncing once off Jake's rump before clipping Jess on the left ear with its serrated teeth. Startled, Jake shied backwards, an iron-shod hoof coming down hard on Jess' right instep and pinning his foot to the ground.

"Ow ow ow!" Jess bellowed, pummeling Jake's hindquarters to shift him off the offended extremity.

Andy bent over to retrieve the comb from under the corral fence where it had skittered and banged his head against the bottom railing on his way back up.

"Yowie... shit!"

Mike came out of the barn just then, toting a bucket of feed. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his adopted 'brother' and 'uncle' raindancing around the buckboard team. Andy was simultaneously rubbing at his rear and head, and Jess was hopping up and down on one foot with a hand clapped to his ear. What was coming out of their mouths had the boy glancing nervously toward the kitchen door where, any second now, Aunt Daisy would hear the ruckus and come tearing out with a big bar of soap!

When Aunt Daisy _did_ step out onto the front porch a minute or two later, it was to ring the dinner bell just as Jess and Andy were leading Jake and Willie over to the pasture gate. Mike had already put some distance between them and himself because he didn't want to be lumped in with the cussers and share in the punishment if it turned out that Aunt Daisy _had_ got an earful after all and was just biding her time.

"Supper in ten minutes, boys! Get a move on!" Daisy called out across the yard.

The food was on the table by the time the two cleaned up at the washstand near the side door and took their places. The housekeeper-turned-housemother poured coffee all around (milk for Mike) and seated herself to offer the blessing. There was none of the usual light-hearted banter at _this_ meal as bowls and platters were passed from hand to hand.

Daisy assessed her 'boys' one by one. Something was going on and she aimed to find out what it was.

"I noticed you were limping when you came in, Jess. What have you done to yourself this time?"

"Ain't nothin', Daisy. One a the horses stepped on my foot."

"I'll have a look at it after supper."

"Aw... it ain't..."

"I'll just have a look at it anyway, dear."

"Yes m'am," Jess sighed in resignation. All sweetness and light on the outside, projecting an aura of grandmotherly beneficence, Daisy Cooper brooked no argument when it came to the health and welfare of her 'boys'.

"What happened to your ear?"

"My...?" Jess put fingers up to his left ear and they came away streaked with blood. "Oh... that's from where Andy hit me with the currycomb."

Slim frowned. "He did what? Never mind. I don't want to know."

Daisy continued. "Andrew, why are you fidgeting as though there were ants in your pants?"

"Jake bit me on the a... on the _gluteus maximus_ ," Andy admitted sheepishly, pinking up.

"What's a gluey maxi mouse?" Mike asked.

Daisy sighed. "I suppose I'll have to have a look at that as well."

Andy turned red. "Oh _no m'am!_ I'm fine... really, I am!"

"But if the skin's broken..." Daisy insisted.

"No m'am... it ain't. _Isn't,_ " he amended hastily.

Slim snickered and Daisy's eyes swung over to him. "And you! From the look on your face ever since you returned from town you must be suffering a bilious attack. Do you require some bicarbonate, dear... or paregoric?"

"No m'am. That's not the problem."

"Then what is?"

With the prescience of the very young but lacking the diplomacy of an adult, Mike was the one who dragged the elephant into the room and plopped it squarely on the table.

"Andy's mad at Slim," he stated ingenuously.

"Who says I'm mad?" Andy squirmed, having been studiously avoiding making direct eye contact with his brother, sure he was successfully masking his acrimonious thoughts. Not well enough, evidently, if a ten-year-old could see right through him.

"Well... I heard you tellin' Jess and every time you look at Slim you make a face like you're mad. Aunt Daisy... do I gotta eat the carrots?" The boy'd been industriously hazing tiny cubes of carrots apart from the peas and amassing them in a tidy pile of their own.

"Carrots are good for your eyesight."

"I hate carrots!"

"No carrots, no pie for dessert. Somewhere in China there's a starving little boy who'd be happy to have one carrot," Daisy lectured.

"I ain't in China and he's welcome to mine, then," the youngster quipped. "Send 'em on!"

"That's enough, Mike," Slim warned.

"Tell the truth, Aunt Daisy... I ain't too fond of peas 'n carrots, neither," Jess admitted. He'd tried to pass up having to put any on his plate but Daisy had given him the stink eye, reminding him that he and Slim both were supposed to be role models for the child.

"Same goes for you, young man!" Daisy smiled as Jess capitulated and reached for the ladle.

"I HATE CARROTS!" Mike repeated loudly, bottom lip poked out.

"So why _are_ you mad at Slim, Andy?" Jess intervened before full-scale rebellion could break out. Daisy tried to kick him under the table but her soft doeskin moccasin couldn't penetrate the thick cowhide boots protecting his shin.

Andy laid down his knife and fork. "Because I smell yet another broken promise in the near future. Slim's just putting off having to tell me about it. Isn't that right, Slim?"

Jess stiffened in his seat. This wasn't his old pal Andy talking—the good-natured kid who'd gone away to school eighteen months ago. This was a teenager with a legitimate gripe... and not only that... one who needed a shave and whose voice had deepened. One who'd be demanding justification and could no longer be fobbed off with 'because I said so.' Jess turned his quizzical eyebrows on his partner.

"That true, pard? You callin' off the fishin' trip?"

Although Jess would have loved to have gone with, _someone_ had to stay home and mind the ranch and the stagecoach relay business. Trustworthy temporary help was getting increasingly difficult to find and they couldn't hire just _any_ man... or men—now that they had a small child and a lady of mature years on the premises. Besides, this fishing/hunting/camping expedition was intended as an opportunity for the brothers to reconnect and renew their sibling bond—just the two of them—and timed to take advantage of prime fly-fishing season in the mountain streams and lakes, which was starting _now_ —mid-June through mid-July. Jess hated to miss it... but he'd get his turn at some buddy-time with Andy later.

"Something's come up... a couple of things, actually," Slim muttered. "I can't go right now, Andy. I'm really sorry. Can't be helped."

"It's always something. And you're always sorry about it," Andy mumbled.

Daisy, ever the arbiter, peacemaker and provider of comfort, spoke up before Slim could respond.

"Before we jump to any conclusions and get into any arguments, why don't we hear what Slim has to say, shall we? Slim, dear...?"

"Whatever," Andy tossed back.

Slim looked up with a bleak expression.

"Marvin Forbes had a heart attack last night—dead as a skunk. I've been called up to serve on the county commission because I'm next on the reserve list. I'll have to be there at every meeting as Commissioner of Roads until the next election. Usually the board meets once a week, but right now they're in special session every evening along with the town council, trying to work out funds allocation for next fiscal year's budget."

"Can't they just skip over you an' call the next man on the list?" Jess asked.

"Ed Grimes is the only other reserve commissioner and he's out of town... and I didn't run for this post just so I could back out the first time they need me... and that's not all. Mort caught me over at the barbershop this morning. His mother wired that his father's passed away, so he's catching the morning eastbound train to Omaha to take care of things there. Planning to put the farm up for sale and bring her back here to live. Said he thought he'd need about a month."

"Let me guess," Jess interjected, "he asked if you'd fill in and you said yes..."

"Would you've refused him?"

"No... I reckon not. What about that new deputy... what's-his-name? Can't he sheriff for four weeks?"

"Dan Guthrie, you mean... no, he's too new. Too young and too green. Only been here a week and doesn't know anyone yet."

"Well, you can't protect the town from twelve miles away so I suppose this means you'll be staying at the hotel in town until Sheriff Corey returns?" Daisy inquired.

"No... I'll stay at Mort's place," Slim said.

"He coulda asked me instead," Jess objected.

"Which would have solved _what_ , exactly? Then we'd both be stuck in town. _Somebody_ has to run this place!"

"Oh... yeah."

"Look, Jess... maybe we can go next month... or even August. Fishing'll be almost as good then..."

"No it won't an' you know it, Slim! The salmonfly an' mayfly hatches are startin' right now an' this is very best time if you're gonna try fly fishin'."

Seeing that Andy was fuming silently in pre-eruption mode, Daisy arose and in her nicest way requested his assistance in clearing the table to make room for dessert. Usually Mike did this. The boy immediately hopped up, seeing a way out of the detested vegetables.

"I'll do it! I'll do it!"

Sweetness and grandmotherliness flew out the window. "You, young sir, will sit there until those peas and carrots are gone or Hades freezes over, whichever occurs first!"

Andy couldn't help but grin even though he was still seething on the inside. "Sure, Aunt Daisy. Glad to help." _If Slim thinks that's the end of this matter, he's got another think coming!_

Slim wasn't thinking anything of the sort. He knew better—knew that there would be a confrontation sometime later that evening. Even as recently as six months ago he'd still been able to exert the power of Big Brother. But Andy had changed... and not just physically. The sensitive, introverted, small-for-his-age kid Slim had sent away to school had been transformed into a more self-assured, soft-spoken young adult with knowledge of the wider world to back him up. Education, Slim knew, instilled power of a different kind... but just as effective as weapons, money or brawn. And, after all, wasn't this why he wanted this higher education for Andy? Because he'd always known, sensed, that his little brother would never possess the sheer intestinal fortitude, physical prowess and forceful personality that he himself owned?

More and more here lately Slim had found himself wondering why he kept on fighting to keep the ranch going. To honor his father's dream? To fulfill what he accepted was his own destiny? It was a modest-sized concern, growing a little every year, but he'd never be a cattle baron with thousands of acres and stock. The stagecoach era would be over by end of the decade... a blind man could see that. When he'd finally acknowledged that Andy had no interest in taking over, he told himself it was for his own someday offspring, but here he was—thirty years old with no wife or children and not even a sweetheart in sight.

Andy would grow up to be a white-collar professional of some kind... and there was nothing wrong with that, Slim supposed. He had no idea what he himself might have become had he gone on to university instead of incurring his mother's sorrow by enlisting in the Union Army. His father, too, had counseled against becoming involved in a conflict that had nothing to do with them, although he himself had later been forced to choose sides. It hit Slim, then, that he'd been barely a year older than Andy's current age when he'd joined up. The thought of his gentle brother going to war made him sick. This could never happen. He would never allow it.

While Slim'd been doing all this heavy-duty thinking, Mike had given in to the inevitable and eaten the carrots, trying not to breathe through his nose so he wouldn't have to taste them. Pie had been served and consumed. Andy had graciously offered to clear the table and wash dishes. In his opinion, Daisy Cooper was the best thing that had ever happened in this household—no offense to Jonesy. Well... maybe the second best thing. The _real_ best thing was Jess. Andy knew it was childish, but he still maintained that little room in his head marked 'hero worship.'

Pushing back from the table, Jess patted his belly and emitted a discreet burp.

"I declare, Daisy, that's the _best_ apple pie I ever et in my whole life!"

"You say that about every pie!"

"Well... it's true."

Jess got up and went over to his rocking chair to pull off his boots, making just the tiniest whimper when swelling had prevented one of them from coming off easily. Daisy was there in a flash, sitting on the ottoman in front of him.

"Sock off, if you please!"

"Aw... Daisy!"

"Off. Now. Let me see that foot."

'That foot' turned out to have a solid band of purple across the instep, extending almost into the arch. Toes appeared undamaged. With a firm hold on his ankle, Daisy flexed Jess' foot this way and that, pressing with her thumb and fingers to see where it hurt most. She even put her head down close to listen for the tell-tale crunch of broken bones but didn't hear any. And while Jess stoicly refrained from making any other unmanly noises, little beads of pain-sweat were popping out on his forehead. Daisy wasn't fooled.

"Any sharp pain... or just a dull ache?"

"Ain't sharp... but I wouldn't call it _dull_ , neither."

"Nothing seems to be broken. I'll be right back." Daisy bustled off to the kitchen to prepare a compress, returning a few minutes later with towels and a small oilskin pouch filled with ice chips.

"Put your foot up on the ottoman."

Daisy arranged the bag across Jess' instep and wrapped the foot in towels.

"This will keep the swelling down. Keep it elevated until bedtime. Now, let's see about that ear."

Although school was over for the year, Slim and Daisy saw to it that Mike devoted at least two hours a day reading or studying. He'd lost so much classroom time on his doomed family's westward trek that he was a grade behind his peers. Miss Porter, principal at Laramie's elementary school in town, had explained to Slim that it would be beneficial to the boy's self-esteem if he could be placed at the appropriate grade level in the coming school year. Mike Williams was a bright child and Miss Porter felt that three months of tutoring and dedicated study would get him there. At first Mike had objected, before coming to understand this meant not being the oldest kid in a room full of _babies—if_ he passed the tests at summer's end. So he studied and held the grumbling to a minimum.

Among the presents Andy had brought from St. Louis was a box of books, having noted on the winter visit that his successor was a voracious reader. At the moment, Mike's small body was hunched over at the dining table and feet hooked on the bottom rung of the chair. He was enthralled in Jules Verne's _Five Weeks in a Balloon_.

Jess was sprawled in the rocker by the fireplace, gently snoring beneath the pages of the _Laramie Gazette_ covering his face. In the matching rocker opposite, with her tiny moccasin-shod feet crossed at the ankles on the other half of the ottoman, Daisy darned socks and hummed to herself. Slim had some bookwork to do and he'd settled himself at the rolltop desk with the big green ranch ledger opened in front of him.

Andy finished washing the dishes and, per Daisy's instructions, stacked them to dry in a wooden rack on the sink's corrugated drainboard. She'd said she would do the putting away in the morning. Yet another departure from tradition, which was one to wash and one to dry, with everything being restored to its proper resting place before the kitchen was declared closed for the night.

Slim and Jess normally rotated evening rounds—checking that gates, cages and pens were locked and that the horses in their barn and the cow in her byre had hay and water. It was Jess' turn tonight but, there again, Andy volunteered before Daisy thought to ask him to do it. It was an excuse to get out of the house and cool down.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3:_ **A HEART DIVIDED**

Andy wasn't ready to reenter the house. He stole up on the porch and carefully, quietly, lowered his still tender behind into Jonesy's old rocker, which had weathered to a silvery gray over the years. Time and again Slim had suggested sprucing it up with a paint job but Jonesy had claimed he preferred it just as it was—old and gray and worn to a soft patina... just like himself! The woven rattan seat and back had long ago rotted away. One of the first chores Jess had ever undertaken was replacing them with tightly braided rawhide strips—one of the many arcane skills the former gunfighter trotted out from time to time... like playing the spoons or creating exotic dry flies out of bits of horsehair and feathers.

With booted feet propped up on the porch rail, Andy savored the pink and lavender glow lingering above the skyline, how it delicately shaded to purple and then black to the east. The only sounds were the whispering of leaves in the cottonwoods, the chirrup of crickets and the shrill peeping of frogs in the stock pond in the big pasture. A rabbit darted across the yard. Out in the pasture a doe and two fawns foraged companionably among the darker shapes of the horses, most standing hipshot and a few lying down. Bats flitted like little black kites at the corner of the house, drawn by the light shining through the kitchen window above the sink.

Andy was overcome with a wave of melancholia, knowing that although this _represented_ home, it really wasn't his anymore. Like it or not, home—for the next seven, almost eight years‚ until he graduated from university—was St. Louis. Whatever career path he pursued most likely would not lead back here. There'd been times when he'd been so terribly homesick he'd cried himself to sleep, and would look back in wonderment at the little boy who'd yearned to escape the confines of the ranch. Why couldn't he have turned out like Slim, with ranching bred in the bone, content to exist in one small corner of a great big world?

What would happen in the years to come to these people he loved? Slim would probably tell him he was too young to worry about stuff that far in the future. But he wasn't. He worried all the time. Andy had to chuckle at himself. In that respect he was _exactly_ like Slim—in that he always found _something_ to worry about! Well... and he was just as serious as Slim. They had different priorities, was all.

Maybe he wouldn't worry so much if Slim found himself some nice young woman to marry up with and have some babies with. Then he wouldn't be so inclined to go off and get himself involved in trouble and sometimes hurt, like he was _still_ doing even though he was thirty now and a little long in the tooth for that nonsense! Andy made a mental note to ask Aunt Alice, when he got back, to invite Slim for a long visit. Maybe in the autumn when the party season was in full swing. Aunt Alice had bunches of nice young woman friends who all seemed to be in the husband-hunting business. Surely Slim could cut one out of the herd and get started producing some nieces and nephews for him.

And Jess. Andy worried about him just as much. Andy wrote a combination letter at least every other week to both Slim and Jess and received separate letters back, sometimes in the same envelope and sometimes not. Truth to tell, they were pretty boring because neither one would come right out and tell what really happened about anything interesting... like anytime one or the other of 'em got sick or hurt. He knew it was because they didn't want to distract him from his studying.

Now, both Slim and Jess wrote to Jonesy and told him everything! But Jonesy never offered to share his correspondence for the same reason... Andy didn't need to be worrying about things 'at home' that he couldn't do anything about no ways. But ha ha ha... he'd got around that, by jiminy! Now that she wasn't being a nurse anymore or running that whorehouse in Laramie (which Aunt Alice didn't know about), Aunt Emma had turned out to be a real fun lady who believed a boy Andy's age was too old to be shielded from the truth, so she kept Andy informed. In return, Andy performed a valuable and quite remunerative service for Aunt Emma and, by extension, Aunt Alice...

Both ladies liked to gamble—they especially liked to bet on the weekend harness races held out at Laclede track, which was conveniently right on the streetcar line that passed a block away from the house. Aunt Alice's manservant, Othello, liked to gamble, too. Problem was, lady bettors weren't welcome at the track. Neither were black folks, who had their own track on the other side of Bogtown.

Othello's brother Iago, who worked at the Laclede stables, had an infallible eye for the trotters. Every Thursday evening, after the lineups had been established for the weekend races, Iago would hop off the streetcar to deliver hot tips to his brother who in turn passed them along to the ladies. Aunts Alice and Emma and Othello handed their put-down money to Andy, who hopped on the streetcar (with Iago) and rode down the line to place their bets plus his own. (Bookies stayed open well into the night.) All three adults shared a percentage of their winnings with their teenage 'beard.' Andy's savings account was fattening up very, very nicely. The young ladies of the house were not to know about this unladylike pursuit, of course, and Slim would've crapped a cinderblock had he known about it.

Sitting out on the porch in the now-dark, Andy attempted to revive his flagging spirits by concentrating on happy thoughts (his savings account, for one) instead of unhappy ones (being cheated out of a fishing trip). It came to him that this was a terrific opportunity to employ what he'd learned in philosophy, psychology and critical thinking... instead of wasting all that mental energy on what couldn't be changed, ponder on a solution instead. Or an alternative. In this case, replacing the unavailable fishing partner with another one. And he had to make it an _attractive_ alternative. And in order to do that, he first had to apologize to his brother for his earlier rudeness.

Andy put on his bland face, stood up, stretched and moseyed indoors. Everyone was right where he'd left them an hour ago. Mike looked up expectantly from his book as Andy approached Slim's desk and stood there at ease, waiting for his brother to finish a calculation he was making. Daisy pretended not to notice anything but her needle paused ever so slightly. The newspaper ceased fluttering as the breath under it was being held.

Finally Slim put down his pencil, sat up in the chair and looked up at Andy. He'd been anticipating part two of the fishing trip argument and was prepared to launch into defensive mode by getting in the first word.

"Look, Andy..."

"Slim, I..."

"Go ahead..."

"No, you go..."

"No... no... you first..."

Andy then gave a sort of odd bow. "Wisdom of age before callowness of youth."

Slim blinked. He wasn't expecting this.

"I know you're disappointed, Andy. I'm disappointed, too. But I don't know what else to say. That's the problem with being an adult with responsibilities. You have to learn to balance what you want to do against what you have to do."

Andy rocked back on his heels, giving his head that little tilt to the side along with the lop-sided grin that was still as endearing as when he was a young 'un with a question. His tone was low and respectful.

"I understand that, Slim. I do. I apologize for being rude and out of line earlier. There's always next year. Instead, maybe I can take Mike fishing up at Hourglass Lake if that's okay with you and Aunt Daisy."

"Oh boy!" came an exuberant whoop from the table. A subdued 'Oh rats!' followed a moment later. "I ain't learned how to swim yet. They won't let me go."

" ' _Haven't'_ , not _'ain't'_... and I'll teach you," Andy said placidly. "First really warm day we get... but that might not be until the end of June."

Mike's face fell. "Aw shucks. That's a long ways off!"

"Not so long. We'll find other things to do until then. Say, kid... what say you and me go on to bed and let the old folks get on with their evening prayers. I'll tell you a good ghost story!"

"You will? Promise?"

"Who you callin' old, you overgrown sprout?!" Jess hollered, jerking the paper off his face.

Andy grinned at him and hooked a finger at Mike. "Promise! Come on, now... g'nite all."

Mike slipped off the chair, made his goodnights including a kiss on the cheek for Aunt Daisy and scurried off to the bedroom, Andy following close behind. Before closing the door, he stuck his head back out.

"Whoever gets up first, get me up, too and I'll do Jess' chores for him."

In the sudden quiet, the three 'old people' looked at each other in genuine bewilderment. Slim just shook his head.

"Who _was_ that boy... and what's he done with my brother?"

"I didn't see a _boy_ at all, Slim," Daisy ventured. "I saw a _young gentleman_ who's going to do very well in the world someday. Are you _sure_ he just turned sixteen? That was unusually gracious behavior for one that age."

"I kinda liked the old Andy, not this here dandified version," Jess opined. "It ain't natural, I'm tellin' ya!"

Daisy put her darning away in the basket near her chair and stood up. "I believe it's time for me to retire as well. You boys'll bank the fire and make sure the lamps are out?"

"Yes m'am. You go on. We've got it covered."

"Good night, then... and Jess, be careful with that foot. Let Andy handle your chores like he said."

"Yes m'am."

After a quick trip to the outhouse, Slim and Jess closed down the kitchen and went to their own room, hurriedly stripping down to their longjohns and burrowing under the layers of quilts and comforters on their beds. Even though it was the end of May, the bedrooms were chilly and would be more so by dawn. With the oil lamp out, the room was pitch black.

"G'night, Slim."

"G'night, Jess."

Minutes went by.

"Slim?"

"Huh? Wah?" came the muffled reply.

"You awake?"

"No."

"I been thinkin'..."

Slim groaned. "Go to sleep."

"Doncha feel guilty?"

"Not listening..."

"About Andy..."

"What about him?"

"About cancellin' the fishin' trip..."

"He was playing me, Jess. Couldn't you tell?"

"No, he weren't... it ain't fair..."

Slim grunted.

"He's been talkin' up this trip since last Christmas..." Jess insisted.

"He'll get over it..."

"I got an idea..."

"Oh, for the love of Pete!" Slim grumbled and the bed creaked as he rolled over and sat up. Jess did the same, so that they were facing each other and could keep their voices down.

"Get it out and be quick about it. I want to be in town by sunup."

"I know this was s'posed to be a brother trip, but since you can't go an' ain't likely to be free to go 'til the after the next election—providin' you don't get elected permanent-like—would it hurt your feelin's too bad if I went instead?"

"We've already been over this, Jess... you... _someone_... has to stay here and look after the ranch and Daisy and Mike!"

"What if we could get someone real reliable to come out here an' stay for a month... like Greenwood and Dixon? We made out okay for spring roundup when I was laid up." Jess was referring to the eight weeks of recuperation from an appendectomy that had prevented him from participating in roundup... and the fact that Slim had, fortunately, found two capable men to fill in.

"Chuck and Bill aren't around anymore—they got hired on full-time at Judge Garth's place in Medicine Bow. Name me two _other_ men you'd trust on their own here while we're both gone and not around to supervise."

"Well... I weren't necessarily thinkin' on two _men_..."

"Go on..."

They couldn't see each other's faces in the dark but Jess sensed, as his explanation gained momentum, that he was piquing Slim's interest. The idea hadn't come upon him suddenly... he'd started ruminating on it hours and hours ago and refining his presentation. Now he was ready to present his case and did so...

"So, whaddya think?"

Slim let out a long breath. "All right. You can ride into town with me in the morning and pitch that proposition to the Jacksons... _only_ if Daisy agrees, is that clear? But I want you back home in time for the ten o'clock stage. Might as well hitch up the buckboard and get her shopping done while you're at it... save a trip later. No dawdling."

"You got it, Slim! And thanks for lettin' me try, anyway."

"Can a hard-working interim sheriff and county commissioner get some shut-eye now?"

"You betcha, pard!"


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4:_ **HEADING OUT**

Two days later, as Jess and Andy approached the curve in the stage road that would take them out of sight of the ranchhouse, Andy turned around to wave at Aunt Daisy and Miz Martha Jackson standing on the front porch. Miz Martha's husband, Mister Avery had taken their three young children and Mike on a hayride earlier that morning, mainly to take Mike's mind off the distressing fact that he wasn't being included on the fishing trip. Orrie—Mister Avery's eighteen-year-old son from a previous marriage—was in the corral, checking with practiced hands and eyes the feet of the four horses being prepped for the ten o'clock stage. Tall and heavily muscled like his father, Orrie was learning the farrier trade along with two other former slaves—Jem Morpeth and Alonzo White—in the family's blacksmith/livery stable business.

Jess hadn't quite understood the concept of 'vacation' until Andy'd explained it to him at Christmas break. And he'd completely forgot about it until the fishing trip brouhaha brought it to mind again... along with the bright idea. No one was more surprised than Jess himself when his plan came together so neatly... which was to offer the Jacksons a month's working 'vacation' at the ranch. Jess in turn had explained it to Avery, who hadn't heard of such a thing as 'vacation' either, but agreed it would be a nice divertissement for his family. As for himself, minding a dozen head of horses, four orphan calves and a milk cow, and changing out a team of stagecoach horses twice a day was a welcome change from dawn-to-dusk backbreaking blacksmithing work at his forge. He had no qualms about leaving the business in Jem's and Lonzo's capable hands.

Martha Jackson was an educated freedwoman who'd been born and raised up north, so she and Daisy Cooper had a lot in common and got on like two bugs in a rug. For some time now Daisy had been fretting about the impossibility of making an extended visit to visit her ailing sister in Cheyenne. With Miz Martha there to take care of Mike _and_ the ranchhouse, Daisy could in clear conscience spend several weeks with Rose. For Miz Martha, four weeks away from town was an attractive prospect. Her fractious children could run free in the sunshine and play in the creek and make as much noise as they liked without offending any white folks.

Likewise, Slim—now in town—was satisfied that he needn't worry. Avery was just about the most dependable man in Laramie and they'd been friends for years. The ranch couldn't be in safer hands and Miz Martha would keep the house spotless and look after Mike as if he were her own. Daisy would be catching the afternoon coach into town, then boarding the train for Cheyenne.

Andy was astride Ranger, Slim's second-favorite mount, and Jess was aboard Scout, his own remount. The ranch-bred bay geldings were compact, chunky, seemingly tireless animals with calm temperaments—ideal for the fifty-two miles of trail ahead of the prospective campers. According to Jess, with their broad backs and smooth gaits, they were like riding in a rocking chair.

Although the personnel issue was resolved, a few other minor ones remained to be addressed. One of them was the problem with Jess' boot... the fact that he couldn't get the right one on. After seventy-two hours of ice packs—whenever Aunt Daisy could cajole Jess into sitting still long enough—the swelling hadn't gone down far enough to allow the injured foot to slide down into his favorite cowhide boots. He'd been wearing Comanche-style deerskin boot moccasins that laced up to the knee with bead, quill and fringe embellishments—ceremonial finery received as a gift in earlier years. Not something your average white man would be caught dead wearing in a saloon, but that was all he had and he was wearing them now. Andy knew better than to snicker.

Jess' original intention was to camp rough with only whatever they could carry on their horses—he'd got by for five years on the drift that way and didn't see any need for more. However, Slim and Daisy had other ideas—to Andy's relief, because he knew he'd been living soft for too long now. He wasn't especially looking forward to sleeping on bare ground with a thin blanket and no protection from the elements. Slim and Daisy had each prepared their own lists of what they regarded as bare essentials for four weeks away from civilization. Consequently, the expedition now included two sturdy—and surly—pack mules loaded to the gunwales.

Abner and Clyde were on loan from the Sherman's long-time neighbor Garland Bartlett and had only recently been broken to harness. Mister Bartlett had said a good long pack trip was just the thing to finish them off and 'work out the knots'. Jess and Andy had ridden over to Bartlett's spread two days ago to fetch them and get them used to wearing pack saddles. Easier said than done! Abner and Clyde weren't small mules to begin with—out of Tennessee Walker mares by a mammoth jack—and not in the least bit cooperative.

Abner was a chronic bucker-and-kicker and Clyde was a compulsive biter. Andy quickly learned to snug Clyde's head tight to whatever was handy—fence rail, post, tree—before attempting to put anything on his back. Jess had been knocked down three times and kicked in the left knee before he finally got a pack saddle secured in place on Abner. Andy'd suggested maybe they'd better just go with the mules they owned, but Jess'd declared no mule was gonna get the better of him! Even when Abner got loose and went on a bucking spree, hurling the contents of his pack saddle in all directions all over the corral, Jess had grimly picked up everything and started over.

They'd meant to depart at sunrise but the mule problem'd taken longer than expected to sort out. At the moment the miscreants were meekly following along behind their respective leaders but Andy had no confidence in their continuing obedience. Mules were sneaky like that.

The kick to the knee had further reduced Jess' mobility although he was doubly careful to straighten up and not let Daisy catch him limping or she'd come down on him like a ton of bricks. Ninety-eight pounds' worth, anyway. To add insult to injury, his usual method of mounting—hop, skip and jump—was out and he had to stand on an upturned bucket. When he was finally, comfortably, in the saddle, he let out a big sigh of relief and signaled Andy to move out.

The first four miles were uneventful **.** Abner and Clyde, with that long, fluid plantation walker stride in their blood, had no trouble keeping up with the horses. As neither rider was feeling excessively conversational and it was near time for the ten o'clock stage to come along, Andy was riding tandem behind Jess along the north verge of the roadway. He was practically bouncing in the saddle with good will and high spirits—and only the tiniest twinge of guilt at poor Slim being stuck in town. On the other hand, he'd been _owed_ this camping trip since forever—since he was just a little kid—so what was so wrong about finally getting it? Every year since he'd come home from The War, Slim had promised his little brother he'd take him camping... and every year he'd cancelled out for one reason or another.

Andy had Clyde's leadline wrapped around his left hand rather than around the horn of his saddle—just as Jess had taught him. On a narrow mountain trail, with a sheer dropoff on one side and a rockwall on the other, mules were a lot more surefooted than horses. Where a horse might misstep and go hurtling into the abyss, a mule would be glued to that trail like a mountain goat. Unless, of course, it was tethered to the horse—in which case it would be dragged along to an early demise... along with the horse's rider. So, Jess had counseled... keep the lead wrapped around your _hand_. That way, if your mount slips and falls, you can jump off and be anchored to the trail by the mule.

Andy did note, however, that this was another 'Jess Dictum' on the order of _'do as I say, not as I do'_... because the man himself had the leadline to _his_ mule attached to the horn of _his_ saddle. Andy knew that if he mentioned it, Jess would point out that _he_ needed a free hand in case he had to reach for his pistol. You just never knew.

At any rate, Andy realized that his left arm was meeting increasing resistance. Furthermore, Clyde had drifted toward the center of the road so that Andy's arm was now being stretched sideways. This wouldn't do. Andy angled Ranger toward the center as well to bring his arm back to a more comfortable position, which is when the line suddenly went taut, nearly jerking him right out of the saddle.

"What the...?"The boy angled his head to see what in heck was going on behind him just as Clyde sank to his haunches, then folded his front legs and settled in the middle of the road with a pitiful groan. Ranger must have concluded he had a steer on the end of the rope, quickly swiveling his hindquarters and backing up. Andy was sure his arm would be pulled right out of its socket.

"Ranger, NO! Jess! JESS! HELP!"

Jess whoa'd and turned around. "Git 'im up... quick! Stage'll be along any minute."

"I'm trying... I'm trying..." Andy drummed his legs against Ranger's sides to no avail, finally resorting to spurs to get his mount to understand he was meant to move forward instead of backwards, which Ranger finally, grudgingly, did.

Jess was yelling. "Dally that rope while ya got some slack!"

Andy dallied. Jess yelled some more.

"NOW pull back!"

Getting the new signal, Ranger craned his head around to give his rider the evil eye, as if to say 'make up your mind, already!" But he obligingly backed up until Clyde's neck was stretched tight as a guitar string.

Jess didn't like quirts and rarely carried one. Neither did Andy. They had nothing with which to compel that dadblamed mule to get up... and, sure enough, coming over the rise in the distance was that morning coach. The only thing they had going for them was that they were on a relatively level, straight stretch of road with a decent sight line. The coach itself was just topping the long, tortuous incline from town, which the team had to take at a steady jog. Normally, at this point in the route they'd be breaking into a lope, if not a full gallop, but the driver had seen the obstruction ahead and held them back.

Eventually the stagecoach came to a complete halt. There wasn't enough room on either side of the recumbent mule to go around, and the shoulders were littered with rocks and boulders too big to roll over. Mose Shell leaned forward with elbows on knees, torn between aggravation and amusement, shaking his head mournfully.

"What's this? You boys studyin' on holdin' us up this fine mornin'?"

Of course, Mose—being significantly hard-of-hearing—was making his announcement loudly enough (as old deaf people invariably do) so that his words were clearly audible to the passengers inside the coach. Before either Jess or Andy could reply to their friend of many years, a gabble of excited voices and feminine shrieks of alarm broke out inside the conveyance.

"Thieves!"

"Robbers!"

"Highwaymen!"

And then a determined baritone with a clipped British accent... "Never fear, ladies! I shall make short work of these verminous brigands!"

A ruddy, round, monocled and pencil-mustached face surmounted by a dusty derby presented itself at a window, followed by a pair of kid-gloved hands and a rifle. The first shot went through the crown of Jess' hat, blowing it off. Jess' immediate reaction—as always when being shot at—was to dive off his mount into a tuck-and-roll. But this time—hampered by his sore foot dangling outside the stirrup—he landed flat on his back instead, with the wind knocked out of him.

"Take _that_ , you ruffian!"

The second shot hit Abner's pack saddle. A sack of flour detonated in the immediate vicinity and so did Abner, sunfishing like a rodeo champ and braying loud enough to wake the dead from Denver to Dublin. Scout, still attached to the mule, retaliated by neighing and bucking in the other direction. Clouds of flour erupted into the atmosphere, obscuring the scene. Andy panicked—for sure Jess was going to get himself trampled in the melee!

Mose flew off the driver's box, screaming. "Stop shootin'! Don't shoot! They's friends a mine!"

The door to the coach swung open and Dusty Derby hopped out, rifle in hand. "Not outlaws, you say? Then why the devil are we stopped?" His eyes went to the mule _couchant_ , following the rope up to the young man on the horse at the other end... the young man who was now getting off the horse.

"I say! Get that bloody animal out of the way!"

"Do it yourself, mister!" Andy shouted as he ran past to render aid to his gasping companion, who was just becoming visible as the flour explosion dissipated. Heedless of the danger to himself, Andy dropped to his knees beside his fallen comrade. "Jess... JESS! You alright? Jess... you gotta BREATHE!"

The stage team, already agitated by the rifle shots and the two other animals bucking all over the place, were pawing and snorting. Mose was desperately trying to calm the two leads before they were provoked into bolting... mule or no mule in their path.

Dusty Derby, in the meantime, skipped up to the driver's box to retrieve Mose's long whip. Jumping back down, he strode toward Clyde, muttering to no one in particular about showing these lily-livered Americans how one handled a cantankerous beast back in Mother England. With a professional furling and unfurling of the whip, he laid the tip end directly across Clyde's nose.

Nine hundred pounds of outraged mule exploded off the ground and charged the Englishman, lips pulled back from enormous yellow teeth and ears laid flat back. Seeing he wouldn't be able to get back inside the coach in time, Dusty Derby dove underneath it instead.

Unable to reach his quarry, Clyde started attacking the coach itself, kicking and biting at the spokes of the wheels and the brightwork on the body. He even reared up and stuck his head through the window, causing screams of eardrum-shattering proportions.

The fury of the demented mule was so awesome it even got the attentions of Scout and Abner, who ceased their own gyrations to observe with great interest, ears pricked forward. Abner was probably taking notes for future reference. Mules are smart that way.

Mose was clinging to the harness of one of the lead horses, cackling so hard tears were coursing down his seamed cheeks. Even Andy, anxiously helping Jess sit up, couldn't keep his eyes off the spectacle. Clyde's tether having undallied itself, Ranger was also watching... from a discreet remove.

Clyde's bloodlust eventually expended itself and he gave up on the coach and its contents. He gave a mighty shake and a few more items detached themselves from his pack to join everything else already strewn across the road from Abner's performance. Jess was on his feet now, leaning against Andy for support but still wheezing to restore oxygen to his depleted lungs. The first thing out of his mouth when he was able to speak was: 'Get my rifle!'

"What for?"

"I'm gonna kill me a mule..."

"No, you can't..."

"Why not?"

"Well... for one thing he ain't... isn't... our mule to shoot."

"Oh... yeah... right... get me my rifle anyway..."

"Why?"

"I'm gonna shoot that little pissant what took a shot at me..."

"Now Jess... calm down. You can't shoot him, either."

"I guess you're right. Where's my hat?"

Andy turned loose of Jess for a few seconds to bend down and pick up Jess' hat, which he handed over, withholding comment about the two new holes in it and the fact that it was coated in white flour. So was the rest of Jess, for that matter. And Abner.

Mose had finally collected himself enough to sidle over and look Jess up and down. "You hurt, son? You kin ride in the coach back to the ranch, you need to..."

"Nah. I'll be okay. Soon as we reset them packs, me 'an Andy'll be on our way... we're goin' fishin' up to the Snowies for a coupla weeks..."

"That a fact? I reckon I'll be on my way, too, then. Good luck with the fishin' an' all..." Mose recovered his whip and clambered back up to the box, chucking to the horses to move out. The coach squealed away with one wonky wheel missing two shattered spokes.

Andy and Jess set about picking up various bits and pieces that had come out of the packs. Jess was moving stiffly, but moving. Both mules stood quietly as their packs were adjusted. Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths.

"Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"We don't seem to be getting off to a good start, here. Maybe we should just forget about it and turn back..."

That little muscle alongside Jess' jaw was twitching... sure sign he was teetolly pissed off. "I _said_ we was goin' fishin'... an' that's where we're goin'."

"Um... okay."

Andy interleaved his fingers to make a sling Jess could step into to get back aboard Scout. Soon they resumed their trek westward toward town. With every footfall, puffs of flour poofed off Jess and Abner.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5:_ **PASSING THROUGH**

It was closing on noon when they reached the outskirts of town, which was now creeping toward the gently folded terrain of the eastern foothills as the original settlers had taken up all the good, level land outside the 'business district' on the west bank of the Laramie River. New businesses were springing up on the east bank, competing for plots with prospective householders, but most of the civic buildings—such as the courthouse, post office and jail—remained on the west bank.

At this hour most of the townfolk were indoors enjoying 'dinner'... their big meal of the day. Those who happened to be out and about paused to consider the sight of what appeared to be an ordinary cowboy in kabuki make-up... white on white with white. Jess had attempted to bat away most of the flour but he still looked pretty garish while Abner looked like a ghostly wraith. What few were indiscreet enough to stop and gawk had at least the common sense to not point and guffaw—Jess Harper's hair-trigger temper being well-known around these parts.

As they reached the approach span of the beam bridge over the river that meandered its way through the center of town, Jess remembered he had messages to deliver to Slim over at the jail. He gee'd to Scout and they cut to the right up Front Street instead of going one block more to Main Street. Andy knew without asking that, in his current floury condition, Jess was avoiding exposure to any further ridicule by parading past the many saloons that lined Main. Three blocks north they hung a left, which would bring them to the jailhouse at the corner of Main and Grant Avenue.

Although piped waterworks were on the drawing board, the citizens of Laramie still drew their water from private wells or contracted with one of several commercial haulers to fill their cisterns several times a week from clean upriver sources. The haulers were also responsible for filling the public troughs that occupied every intersection. The one between the hitch rails in front of the jailhouse and the adjacent barbershop had just been replenished that morning... with substantial spillage resulting in an inconvenient mud puddle. Some inconsiderate bastard had left his rig in front of the barbershop and some other idiot's buggy was occupying most of the jail's rail, so that the only other parking space was directly over the wallow.

Jess was too aggravated to pay attention... or to remember he wasn't wearing his more-or-less waterproof boots... or to think about his compromised foot and knee not being able to support his full weight. Without thinking he pulled up to the hitch rail and slipped off Scout in one smooth move... and kept sliding. Next thing he knew, he was (once again) flat on his back—looking up at his horse's belly as muddy water lapped at his ears and mud squidged down his shirt collar. Scout stood perfectly still but craned his head down and around, one brown eye regarding his master with equine amusement as the air for half a block around turned blue with invective.

It was all Andy could do to hold it in as he moved to the other side of the buggy, dismounted and hitched his animals. By that time Jess had scrambled to his feet and, still swearing, was rummaging in his saddlebag for dry clothes.

A note on the unlocked door advised that the sheriff was out to lunch and would be back in one hour, but could be found at Evelyn's Café if needed in an emergency. It was Jess' intent to repair to the back room to change, but _that_ door was, unfortunately, locked as that's where Sheriff Corey stored such dangerous items as confiscated weapons. Deciding the second cell afforded enough privacy providing someone guarded the front door, Jess sent Andy to get a bucket of water from the trough and then appointed him keeper of the decency gate.

Everything had to come off, including the thoroughly soaked skivvies. Jess rinsed off his body with a dipper and figured the quickest way to get the mud out of his hair was to dip his entire head in the bucket and swish it around... which he'd just done when he heard the commotion at the front of the office...

"M'am... m'am! You can't go in there!" Andy was yelling. Apparently he was positioned in the open doorway, attempting to prevent ingress by a FEMALE...

"Young man! Get out of my way this instant!" a shrill, indignant voice demanded.

"M'am... the sheriff ain't here... he's at lunch!"

"Then I shall wait for him... and I do not intend to do it loitering on the boardwalk like some common baggage! Out of my way, I say..."

There was a muffled thwacking noise and Andy was going 'Ow! Ow! Don't do that! Ow!', followed by the unmistakeable thumps of not-too-dainty sensible women's shoes on the floorboards.

Jess panicked, blinded by water streaming from his hair. He groped around and snatched the blanket off the bunk, ineffectually trying to wrap it around his naked body. The owner of the sensible shoes arrived at the chair next to the sheriff's desk, which put her in direct sight of the second cell... and its contents.

" _EEEEEEEEEKKKKK!_ " The screech was deafening.

Scarcely knowing what he was doing, Jess lurched through the open cell door and headfirst into a deftly swung reticule that caught him right below the left eye.

" _Take that, you degenerate!"_

The blanket slipped off. The well-worn floorboards were already slick with tracked-in mud plus the water Jess had spilled on the floor. Down he went... again... this time accompanied by repeated battering with something hard and pointy.

" _PERVERT!"_

" _STOP! ST... OW!"_

" _Hey... quit that!"_ Andy's voice appealed.

Jess rolled up like a pillbug, determined to protect his face and privates from further destruction by the wielder of the pointy stick.

" _WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!"_ A new voice cut in—Slim Sherman's fine baritone. "Andy... what the...?"

"Help! Sheriff! Help... this creature attacked me!"

"Miz Birdwell... calm down..." In three steps, Slim was at the affronted woman's side, grasping her upper arm with one hand and with the other relieving her of her weapon... a furled parasol with a sharp ferrule. Gently but firmly he propelled her toward the door, where Homer Clark, the barber, and a half-shaved customer looked in, having heard the woman's screams and rushed over from next door.

"Homer... would you kindly escort Miz Birdwell over to Evelyn's and see that she has some hot tea and brandy? She's had a little fright, is all..."

"Certainly, Sheriff... be glad to..."

"But Sheriff..." Mrs. Birdwell fished around in her ample bosom and withdrew a pair of spectacles on a cord. Settling them on her nose she peered up at Slim. "Oh... it's you... I need to speak with you about..."

"Yes, yes... Miz Birdwell. You go on over to Evelyn's with Homer and I'll be there soon as I can... alright?"

"Well... I suppose..." The lady turned to look over her shoulder, this time getting a clear look at her 'assailant'.

"Oh... _OH!"_ The tone was more appreciative than outraged.

Slim hustled her out the door, closed and locked it, then turned around.

"Might've known," he said dryly.

Andy had pulled up his shirt and undershirt and was examining three perfect blue circles where Mrs. Birdwell had poked him in the belly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... but that old lady's nuts!"

"Is she gone?" came the muffled query from the floor.

Slim was trying to look stern and failing miserably. He walked over and lent a hand to his friend, picking up the blanket at the same time and handing it over.

"I expect you two've got a reasonable explanation for this but I'll let Andy tell it while you make yourself decent. If that's possible."

"Hah hah. Real funny. That ole lady coulda killed me. When did women start carryin' swords, anyways?" Jess moved back into the cell and was rubbing himself dry with the parts of the blanket that were still relatively clean.

"I believe she could have killed you, yes. Or at the very least put out your eye with her parasol!"

By the time Andy was done with the explaining, Jess was restored to clothed dignity with the addition of a black eye.

"How'd you get the shiner? Did she slug you, too?" Slim jibed.

"Nah... she hit me with that pocketbook thing... I think there was a brick in it."

Slim was shaking his head. "I'm beginning to have second and third thoughts about this expedition. So far you've been beat up by a mule and an elderly woman and shot at by some city dude and you haven't even left town yet!"

"We'll be all right, Slim. Oh... here... got some messages for ya from Miz Jackson and Daisy." Miraculously, the sheets of foolscap had escaped immersion and were still legible. "We'll be headin' out now."

Slim sighed. "I don't see why you've got to go so far, Jess. There's plenty of good fishing much closer to home..."

"Yeah... but part a this trip is so Andy can see what's in his own backyard, up close and personal... the real mountains—the wilderness—before it's all logged off and gone..."

"I've seen big mountains before, from the train," Andy commented.

"Yeah... but it ain't the same as bein' there... smellin' it, tastin' it, feelin' it..." Jess said with fervor. "That's the _real_ Big Open."

Jess had that far-away look of longing in his blue eyes... something Slim hadn't seen much of in the past year or so. He felt a twinge of unease, trying to recall the last time his partner had succumbed to it and disappeared for a while. That wouldn't... couldn't... happen this time because he'd have Andy with him. For a sixteen-year-old, Andy was pretty level-headed. At twelve, and then fourteen, he might have been tempted to run away... but not now. Maybe Jonesy and then Jess had been right all along that—that by raising Andy exactly as his father'd raised him, in isolation from other children his own age, Slim'd expected too much too soon. In fact, in thinking back he reflected on how rarely Andy'd ever exhibited the carefree joy of living one might expect from a young boy... until Jess came along. More than Slim'd ever managed, Jess'd given Andy the gift of laughter and light-heartedness. And that hurt.

Slim realized—with carefully concealed surprise—that now he was counting on Andy to keep Jess grounded as much as he was depending on Jess to keep Andy safe. Part of him wanted to say 'no, don't go so far away... stay close to where I can reach out to you if I need you... or the other way around.' Another part was saying 'grant them the freedom to make a choice... and trust they'll make the right one'. Andy _would_ return to school and Jess _would_ return to the ranch. _If you love someone, set them free._

"Don't you get to liking it too much... either of you," Slim said. "And be careful... that is, more careful than you've been so far today!"


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6:_ **ON THE WAY**

It took Jess and Andy close to nine hours to traverse the lower basin from Laramie to Centennial, including frequent stops to rest the animals and attend to their own calls of nature. As luck would have it, when Mrs. Birdwell had decked Jess with that loaded handbag, he'd landed right on that already battered knee... and with every passing mile it got increasingly stiffer—swelling to the point where his form-fitting denims exerted uncomfortable pressure on the joint. Jess tried to pick halts near helpful boulders that could aid in remounting—fallen trees being in short supply out there on the prairie—but most of the time Andy had to give him a boost up.

When Andy puzzled over why it was taking them so long to traverse those flat thirty miles (judiciously not alluding to Jess' infirmity), Jess explained that it wasn't really flat at all... that they had gained nine hundred feet in altitude—which accounted for the fatigue in both men and beasts.

They reached the Kelso homestead well after dark. The honking of the duty watch geese announcing their arrival brought Jimmy Kelso—an old army buddy of Slim's—and his wife to the front porch with lanterns and shotguns. Andy and Jess were quickly made welcome.

Seeing Jess' difficulty, Marge immediately exerted her formidable power of command to maneuver him indoors for medical attention while Jimmy and his oldest son, Chance, guided Andy to the barn with the animals. By the time the three had done putting up the horses and mules for the night and washing up, the oldest Kelso girl, Carrie Anne, had a hot meal ready for the guests. The family had eaten hours earlier, of course.

Jess was sitting in a rocker by the fireplace in his longjohn bottoms, the left leg rolled up past a knee adorned with an icepack. Andy had to stifle a snick at this tableau of domesticity. _We might as well be home in our own parlor with Aunt Daisy bossing Jess around!_ He could well imagine the fuss Jess must've put up when Mrs. Kelso ordered him to remove his pants—it was obvious she was the kind of determined woman who could cow him into doing it, too!

Marge Kelso had initially made up pallets by the fireplace, but in light of the obvious problem Jess would encounter getting down on the floor and back up again, she had Jimmy bring in a folding camp cot over Jess' objections. By ten o'clock everyone was ready to retire for the night. Jess and Andy were asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows.

Jess was slow to rouse... dreaming there was some sort of large animal sitting on his chest and switching its furry tail in his face. Normally anything out of the ordinary could startle him out of a sound sleep but some extrasensory perception advised him he wasn't in any danger. It took a monumental effort to pry open his eyelids... where his eyes met a pair of solemn brown orbs and a small chubby hand with a chicken feather pinched between thumb and forefinger, heading right for his nose. As soon as the child understood he was awake, she clambered off his torso and headed for the kitchen.

"Mama! Mama! I waked up Uncle Jess for you!"

"That's nice, sweetie. Now see can you wake up Uncle Andy."

"Okay!"

Jess turned his head and watched as the little girl very, very carefully assumed the same position on Andy's chest and extended the feather toward _his_ nose. Then Jess suddenly sat up, embarrassed to have been caught sleeping in while this tireless rancher's wife toiled in almost complete silence assembling breakfast for family and guests. He couldn't recall how many children the Kelsos had except that it was more than you could count on one hand. Swinging his legs off the cot, he remembered he was clad only in his underwear and surreptitiously reached for the denims folded on a nearby chair... only to realize they weren't his.

"Good morning, Jess!" Marge trilled from the stove where she stood with her back to him. "Sleep well?"

"Oh... yes, m'am... sure did, thank you." _Must be true about mothers havin' eyes in the backs of their heads._ "Uh... what time is it?"

"A little past five-thirty. Jimmy and the big 'uns are out in the barn, feeding and milking. The middle 'uns are collecting eggs and the least 'uns still asleep except Annabeth there... she wanted the honor of waking you boys up."

Jess was in a quandary... what to do? Where were his pants? She still hadn't turned around.

"I've given you a pair of Jimbo's britches what drew up in the cupboard. Too small for him now but still a size or two larger than your own, so they'll feel a little baggy... that'll ease the pressure on your knee until the swelling comes down, and you'll be able to flex it."

 _Oh... so the woman reads minds as well!_ He went ahead and shinnied into the denims. Yes, they did feel too loose... and yes, there was room for the knee to move... much, much better. His original pants, he now saw, were neatly folded underneath.

Andy was coming awake now and making funny faces at the little girl, who giggled back.

"Breakfast will be a little while yet. You boys go do what you need to do. I'll ring the bell when it's time to come to table."

"Okay... thanks..."

Jess sat on the edge of the chair to struggle into the moccasin boots, which were stiff from having been soaked the previous day. He hadn't had time to rub them back to suppleness with bear grease. Marge brought him a cup of coffee with a disapproving look at his footwear. So he had to explain about _how_ the foot and knee had come to be injured—she hadn't asked last night. By the time he got to Mrs. Birdwell and her arsenal of reticule and parasol, Marge was laughing so hard she almost spilled the coffee.

"My reg'lar boots are in the pack but I don't know when I can get into 'em again."

"Hold up a minute... I'll be right back."

Marge returned from the mudroom of the cabin with a pair of worn but still serviceable workboots, in a size larger than Jess normally wore but not quite as large as Slim's. With them she brought a rolled-up pair of thick woolen socks.

"Here... try these on..."

"I can't take Jimmy's boots, too!"

"Pshaw! These were retired over a year ago... I just keep 'em around for emergencies. This time of year we're likely to see more snow and your feet would freeze in those mocs."

With the addition of the heavy sock, the right boot fit snugly but comfortably. The uninjured foot tended to slide around in the boot's partner, but a second sock fixed that.

Breakfast in the Kelso household was a far from decorous affair, with much cutting up and laughter. Chance, who was Andy's age, took charge of the 'middle 'uns'—a pair of boys around eight and seven—pouring their milk, cutting up their meat and so on. Carrie Anne, at thirteen, fed the 'least 'uns'—five-year-old Annabeth and her three-year-old twin brothers. This left Marge free to mind the stove, oversee the flock, serve her husband, attend to her guests and—after finally sitting down to her own meal—discreetly nurse an infant under a shawl. These frontier women were multi-taskers of the first order!

Jess resolutely tried to banish remembrances of his own family—just as many children... but undernourished and unhappy ones, frightened of their drunken bully of a father and finding no solace in their beaten-down, spiritless mother. At that table it was every kid for himself or herself, scrabbling to grab as much as could be wrested away from the others. And that was only when there was something to fight for. All gone now. Every last Harper except himself, as far as he knew. He barely remembered his two oldest brothers who had run away and disappeared when he was just a toddler.

Out of the corner of his eye Jess observed his traveling companion and guessed that Andy might be thinking this was what his own family might have been like, had all of Matthew's and Mary Grace's children survived instead of just the eldest and the youngest. It wasn't that Jess begrudged the Kelsos their big happy brood... he didn't. But seeing their pleasure in one another made it all the more difficult for him to wholeheartedly believe in a beneficent, omniscient presence that allowed such disparity in families to exist.

After breakfast, Jimmy and Chance accompanied Jess and Andy out to the barn to help them pack up the mules, now that it was light enough to see. Marge watched from the door jamb, thoughtfully observing Jess Harper's pronounced limp before issuing an instruction to her daughter to fetch a certain item from the attic.

Jimmy was describing where to overnight on the trail. "Basically it's just an open-sided shed but she's sturdy enough to shelter you and the beasts. Chance and me put 'er up last summer. There's a cache of firewood under cover behind... help yourself."

"Thanks, Jim. 'Preciate it."

"The stone lodge up at the lake's in good shape. We did some work on the roof just last week and left a supply of torches inside the doorway..."

"Oh... well... we got us a tent. I was plannin' on makin' camp on the north shore... nearer to the hot springs an' pools. I'm thinkin' a coupla good long soaks in that sulphur water an' I'll be right as rain in no time!"

Jess was busy lashing down the canvas cover on Abner's packsaddle and missed the look that passed between their host and his son—a look that plainly spoke to Andy, who _did_ see it although _they_ didn't know that, of some highly amusing secret they weren't planning on sharing.

Jess must have sensed something going on behind his back. He turned with a frown.

"Somethin' wrong with that idea? Springs're still there, ain't they?"

"Oh sure... always been there, always will be," Jim assured him, patting him on the shoulder. Jimmy Kelso was at least as tall as Slim Sherman, and a good fifty or sixty pounds heavier. Certainly a lot hairier. He reminded Andy of those mountain dogs they had over in Switzerland in Europe. He'd seen pictures of them in textbooks... big shaggy ones the size of ponies that had little kegs of brandy strapped to their collars. Chance was headed in the same direction, already sprouting a proper mountain man beard.

Jess turned back to his task, in a much better mood this morning than yesterday. Mrs. Kelso's ministrations last night, her adjustments to his wardrobe, and a satisfying, corner-filling breakfast had made a huge difference in his outlook. A few feet away, Andy was applying finishing touches to his mule as well... but keeping close attention on the two Kelso men, who seemed to be communicating telepathically along with mysterious ear waggles, eyebrow lifts, eyeblinks and nose twitches.

Jess was jabbering on, completely oblivious... something about flies versus live bait and whether or not there were any graylings still to be found in Libby Lake.

"Chance, what was that new kinda fish that ole prospector said was up there?" Jim asked innocently.

"Pink freckle-breasted spiny-finned flydarter," the boy promptly replied. _Too promptly,_ Andy was thinking.

"Ain't never heard a them. How'd they get there?" Jess asked.

"Reckon the same way any other fish get into those alpine lakes... reckon Mother Nature invents new kinds every now an' then to keep us fishermen on our toes..."

 _Too glib an answer. Entirely too glib!_ A misty memory bobbed to the surface of the backwaters of Andy's mind... something Slim had once said about his old soldier friend Jimbo Kelso... that the man was a master practical joker... even in the midst of the worst of the fighting. Andy pinioned that to his mental bulletin board for future perusal.

They were about ready to mount up. Earlier they'd dug out their heavier coats... it was a mite crispier that morning than they had anticipated. Crossing the basin yesterday they hadn't needed jackets at all.

Marge and Carrie Anne walked out to the barn to say goodbye, bearing several bundles and feed sack bags with corded drawstrings and a large stick, which Marge thrust at Jess. It was a stout ash walking cane, elegantly hand-carved the entire length with native American symbols and dark with years of polish. It had an offset leather-padded handle and a hammered brass ferrule at the tip.

Jess tried to give it back, embarrassed. "Thanks, Miz Kelso, but I don't reckon I'll be needin' that... 'sides... it looks like a family heirloom." (He pronounced it 'hair loom' with a hard 'h'. Andy winced.)

"Humor an old lady. Better to have one and not need it than need one and not have it. You can drop it off on your way back... or keep it if you like... or give it away. It was Grampa Kelso's and I hope that ratfaced bastard is burning in hell!"

 _Old? She can't be more than thirty-five at the most! Will I be a old man at thirty-five? That' ain't but seven years from now!_

Jess gestured at the sacks and bundles.

"What's all this, Miz Kelso?" Jess asked, wondering if they dared add one more ounce of weight to the mules. An overloaded mule will sull in a heartbeat. Mules are stubborn like that.

"Just some odds and ends of grub to tide you over until you have time to hunt. And a few other things. You can hang 'em off your saddles and not bother the mules."

"Well... thank you, m'am. You really shouldn't of..."

Marge stepped up to Jess, grabbed his face with both hands and planted a big one on the mouth, right in front of her husband and son.

"There! Now you know me well enough to call me 'Marge' instead of 'm'am'. How about that?!"

Jess grinned bashfully. "Okay... Marge..."

Not to be outdone, Carrie Anne did the same to Andy. "And now you can call me 'Carrie Anne' instead of Miss Kelso!" Clearly the girl had taken a shine in a big way to Andrew Patrick Sherman! Andy was confused. He couldn't remember having called her _anything._


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7:_ **UP THE TRAIL**

Abner and Clyde weren't all that eager to leave the warm comfort of the barn but after a few tickles of encouragement from the quirt Jess had borrowed from Jimmy, they decided to cooperate. Instead of each man leading a mule, Jess had roped them together with himself in the lead and Andy riding drag, which precluded conversation for the first few miles.

At their first break to let the animals rest and drink from a clear mountain stream tumbling over a rocky bed, the two dismounted to stretch their legs. Jess' knee was stiffer than he would have liked but the foot wasn't aching as much. He was able to get on and off his horse without assistance, but not with much grace.

"I thought you said that lake was only twelve miles from Centennial? Why are we stopping overnight before we get there? Boy, I'm winded like I've just been running on my own two legs... what's up with that?" Andy's breath was coming in short pants. So, he noticed, was Jess'.

"It ain't the distance what's gettin' to us, Andy... it's the altitude. From the Kelso's we go up another two thousand six hundred feet and that makes it harder for us and the animals to breathe 'til we get used to it. Air's real thin up here."

"Really?" Andy did the math in his head. "That means we'll be half again higher above sea level than Laramie is! How do you know these things, Jess?"

"Military survey maps... used to study 'em a lot when I was in the... when I was younger. Some fella name a Hayden—geologist what works for the U.S. Department of the Interior—just came out with some new maps a Wyomin' this year. They're sayin' next year President Grant's gonna make the Yellowstone some kinda national park what's off limits to development. I'd kinda like to see that, myself."

"Why would they need to do that? This is such a big country... we figured it out in civics class... the whole United States is three million one hundred twenty thousand square miles, give or take. And according to the last census, our population was thirty-eight and a half million. That works out to a hair more than twelve people per square mile. It'll take years and years to fill it up."

"Some places, that's eleven too many to my way of thinkin'," Jess retorted. "When you're on the train between Cheyenne and Laramie, whadya see mostly when you look out the window?"

Andy thought for a moment. "Um... tree stumps... miles and miles of 'em."

"And whadya see around Centennial? Any forests? Nope. Just more tree stumps. All them railroad ties gotta come from somewhere an' here's where they come from. An' that's just for one railroad track. What dya 'spose is gonna happen when they take a notion to start linkin' all them little towns by railroad 'stead a stagecoach? Why... there ain't gonna be a tree left in the whole dadgum state! That's why we need places set aside where nobody can go in an' cut 'em down!"

Andy gave his friend that little endearing lop-sided grin that always caught at Jess' heart. "Why Jess... I had NO idea you had any interest in conservation or environmental issues. This is a side of you I would've never guessed existed!"

Jess looked off into the distance, abandoning his diatribe for the moment. He spoke quietly.

"Yeah, well, kid... there's still a lotta things about me you don't know. You _or_ your brother..."

An uncomfortable silence ensued, with Andy thinking _doggone it... I've gone and hurt his feelings... and I never meant to..._

Presently Jess stood up from the rock he'd been perched on. "I reckon we'd better get movin' if we want to make Kelso's shelter before dark."

"Yeah, okay..."

As they rode along, Andy recalled Slim explaining, years ago, how the distant mountains everpresent on the far southwest horizon were called the Snowy Range, but the area encompassing them was called the Medicine Bow because of the mahogany trees that grew on the lower slopes—their wood prized by many different Plains tribes for the bows of exceptional quality they provided.

The wagon track Andy and Jess were following had been blazed some four or five years ago by Union Pacific workers in their quest for trees for railroad ties. It still held deep ruts gouged by heavy-wheeled lumber wagons, and the gentle slopes of the foothills on either side still exhibited more stumps than trees, interspersed with secondary growth that would take decades to reforest. The grandeur of the old-growth timber canopy would not be restored in their lifetimes—if ever.

Gradually the stumps and immature trees were left behind and they reached an abrupt incline in the track—the end of the railroad's devastation. Someone, presumably the Kelsos, had continued blazing a trail upward, just wide enough to accommodate a small cart and winding sinuously through towering stands of fir, cedar and redwood. Tall grass and weeds were belly-high to the animals and they had to pick their way over windfalls.

In the last year and a half Andy hadn't spent as much time astride a horse as he had in the past two days... and was suffering the usual effects. No matter how often he shifted his weight from one haunch to the other, his nether regions were unhappy. _How is it possible for your butt and hips and thighs to be so numb and at the same time ache so much? Hope my legs hold me up when it comes time to dismount again. How long before we reach that promised shelter? Don't dare complain to Jess... this was for me, after all..._

Their path merged with a clear brook tumbling over rocks from pool to pool, too shallow for serious fishing, and followed it the rest of the way to a modest plateau with a two-acre lake backed up behind a beaver dam. The far side of the lake was boulder-strewn below a high escarpment, the near side featured a wide expanse of thick grass before the tree line started sloping downwards. The lakeshore on this side was flat and pebbly. And there stood the Kelso's 'shelter'... a more elaborate affair than they'd been led to expect, tucked into a grove of blue spruce. It was closed in on three sides, the open side facing the water, with a loft under the pitched roof.

A quick glance revealed that the bottom portion of the shelter was partitioned at chest-height in two large stalls separated by a smaller compartment containing a couple of saddle racks, various hanging hooks and a short ladder to the loft. The stalls were floored with pine needles, with tie-rings securely bolted to the back wall. Several feet in front of the shelter was a rock-lined firepit with a metal grate and four log segments functioning as seating.

Andy slid off and leaned against Ranger for a minute or two until his wobbly legs stopped quivering. Jess had no such trouble, except for the limp caused by the injured knee. They first stripped the tack off their horses, hobbled them, and turned them loose on the impossibly green grass, then set about unloading the mules. With the animals secured and peacefully grazing, Jess and Andy walked around back to check out the firewood supply. It was as Jim Kelso had said: a lean-to stocked with pre-cut lengths, ready to use, as well as a pair of oak buckets. They soon had a fire going and a pot of coffee on to boil.

Andy had no idea what time it was... there was still light but the sun was behind the escarpment so he couldn't tell how close to sundown they were. He had no complaints about stopping early this time—it was a blessing to his sore bottom and aching legs. When he squatted to rummage in the sacks Marge and Carrie had provided, hoping to find something immediately edible, he almost teetered over when he tried to stand up... would have if Jess hadn't been standing nearby and grabbed his elbow.

"You gonna be able to get up that ladder to the loft, sonny?" Jess queried, grinning.

"I was wondering the same about you... with your knee and all... old man," Andy retorted.

"Who you callin' old? If you think you're sore now, just wait 'til mornin' when you try to get back on your horse," Jess chortled.

"Thanks a lot!"

"I'm gettin' kinda hungry... anything interestin' in them sacks?"

"I think there's some stuff we can just warm up..."

"Where's that fryin' pan...?"

Just then there was a distinctly audible splash somewhere out in the lake...

"Beaver?" Andy queried.

When they'd ridden by the dam, the residents had slapped the water angrily and dived below the surface. Some braver souls had resurfaced and were cruising the territory directly in front of their domain, warily regarding the human intruders.

Jess' eyes narrowed as he listened intently and made a sign to Andy to hush up. There it was again... "No. Fish. Big 'un... I'm gettin' my pole..." He made to go to the packsaddles and Andy forestalled him.

"I'll get it..."

Jess snorted, trying to contain a belly laugh as the boy headed toward the offloaded supplies, waddling like he had a load in his britches.

Presently Andy returned with a long narrow flat package done up in brown paper and string—somehow he'd managed to load it without Jess' knowledge.

"Here... this is for you," he said shyly, thrusting it at his friend. "It's your birthday present."

"It ain't my birthday 'til next month..."

"I know. I was going to give it to you then, after Slim and I got back... but, well... things changed and it's something you can use now." Andy offered his pocketknife so Jess could cut the string.

Jess slowly unwrapped the package, which turned out to be a leatherbound case with a handle and brass locks... too large for a pistol, too short for a rifle or shotgun. He wasn't sure what he could use it for but it was a fine case nonetheless. He looked up at Andy, blinking.

"You shouldn't a wasted your money on me, Andy," he said softly. "Nice case like this, must be real expensive..."

Andy laughed. "That's not the present! Go ahead... open it up."

Jess did. Inside was a new three-piece split-bamboo octagonal fly fishing rod with brass reel and fittings. A smaller compartmented box within held an assortment of dry flies of all varieties.

"Well... I'll be dadgummed..." he breathed, then looked back up, perplexed. "Andy... I can't accept this... this musta cost a fortune... you can't be dippin' into your school money!"

Andy giggled. "Don't tell Slim, but I've got a lot more money than he knows about... won it gambling."

"Gambling? On what? You know how he feels about gambling..."

"Racehorses... back in St. Louis. We all do—Jonesy, Aunt Emma, Aunt Alice... Moira and Cosette, they're the maids. Othello Jones—he's the handyman—he gets hot tips from his brother that works at the tracks... we've all made tons of money..."

"But still... Slim ain't gonna like it," Jess said weakly.

Andy shrugged. "Well... we don't have to tell him... I'll tell him something else like... oh... I don't know... I did some odd jobs."

"Andy, that's lying an' you know it."

"Not exactly... I _have_ done some odd jobs and _have_ made some money that way... can't help it if work money gets mixed up in gambling money, can I? Besides, that rod came all the way from England, special order. I can't send it back."

Jess hands were twitching... he was dying to take out that beautifully hand-crafted rod and just heft it a time or two.

"Go ahead... line's already spun on it. The flies in the box aren't as pretty as the ones you make but they'll do for now. I'll get supper started..."

Dusk came on more quickly than Andy expected as he warmed up some of Mrs. Kelso's stew and fluffly cathead bisquits. Every time he looked up Jess was unhooking something and throwing it back... either the fish were too small or he didn't feel like cleaning any that late in the day. When Andy called him to come eat, Jess carefully diassembled the components, wiped everything down with his bandanna and replaced them in the case.

Jess sighed as Andy ladled out stew into his tin.

"Thanks, Andy... just... _thanks_. That's the finest birthday present I ever got in my whole life!"

"You're welcome. I saw it in a magazine way back in January and ordered it then. Took all this time to get here. I was real glad it came in time!"

After polishing off the stew and washing up their utensils, they watered the horses and mules and brought them into the shelter for night, tethering them to the tie rings. Andy noted they'd need more firewood for the morning and Jess went around back to get it. Stacking it inside the shelter, he suddenly yelped.

"Ow! Damnation!"

"What'd you do now?"

"Splinter!" He was shaking his right hand around as if he could dislodge it that way.

Andy rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'll get the medical kit."

Daisy Cooper's wartime nursing experience had forged a lasting friendship with the humanitarian activist Clara Barton, who was campaigning to create an American branch of the Swiss Red Cross Society. Emulating the 'Angel of the Battlefield', Daisy had created what she called a 'first aid kit'—a former biscuit tin now enameled white with a red cross emblazoned on the lid, which served as a compact, portable adjunct to the large wooden tea chest Jonesy had used to house medical supplies. Overriding Jess' complaint about unnecessary items on their packing list, Daisy had gone over the contents of the kit with Andy before entrusting him with it, adding, "You'll be needing this, traveling with your walking injury magnet there".

Not even an hour ago Andy'd been thinking... _well, we've made it over thirty-six hours now without Jess hurting himself..._ So much for that! He recalled seeing a lantern and a tin of fuel in a corner of the storage area behind the ladder and brought them out as well. Dragging together the four improvised seats, he put the lit lantern on one and the opened tin on another. He and Jess sat facing each other, with Jess' hand palm up on Andy's knee.

Andy used the magnifying glass and tweezers to try weaseling out the offending sliver of wood but it was jammed in there good and tight in the crease in his index finger.

"Hold still, willya?"

"I _am_ holdin' still..."

"No... you're not. Quit jerking..."

"Ow! That hurts!"

Just about the time Andy got a good grip on the bit sticking out, Jess twitched and it broke off, leaving most of it below the skin.

"Now see what you've done... I'm gonna have to cut it out..."

"Cut?" Jess snatched his hand back protectively. "Just leave it then."

"If it stays in there it'll fester. And then you'll be in a pickle. One tiny little cut... that's all... it'll only hurt for a second."

Jess shuddered. "Nah... it'll be okay."

Andy played his trump card. "Jess... it's your _trigger_ finger!"

The other gave this about thirty seconds of hard thought then cautiously extended his paw. "Just be quick about it, okay?" His voice had a definite quaver and he had to look away.

 _How many times has Jess been shot... and then bounced back up to finish the fight? And he's whimpering over a splinter? Gee willikers!_

Andy had thought to use his penknife but the kit contained a tiny razor-sharp scalpel that made a fine incision directly above the splinter. Jess closed his eyes, grimacing and flinching a little as Andy dug below the surface to latch on to the remains.

"Okay... it's out now."

"What? Already?" Jess had been waiting for the bite of a knife and all he'd felt were... pinpricks and mild stinging when Andy dabbed the wound with iodine and blew on it.

"There, all done."

Jess used his sleeve to dab the perspiration off his brow. "Reckon we'd best turn in, pard."

Andy'd already thrown the bedrolls up into the loft. He and Jess managed to negotiate the ladder, catcalling and making fun of each other at their clumsiness. To their surprise, there was quite a bit of still usable hay up there, most of which they tossed down to the animals through the slot between the roof and the loft floor. The rest they spread out as padding under their bedrolls. In no time at all they were both snoring.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8:_ **SKY COUNTRY**

Much, much better... Andy was thinking as they wended their way ever upwards along a gradually narrowing trail. The tall timber started thinning out to be replaced by a forest of lodgepole pines with little undergrowth.

True to Jess' prediction, Andy'd started out feeling as if he'd been beaten all over with a two by four. The pain and stiffness had persisted throughout breakfast, cleaning up, watering and feeding the stock, repacking the unhappy and uncooperative mules, saddling the more amenable horses. Oddly enough, after an hour in the saddle all Andy's joints started loosening up and he hardly noticed the twinges. He and Jess both were breathing a lot easier, too. Either they were acclimatizing faster than Jess had expected, or they'd just needed a good night's rest at high altitude to make the adjustment. Once the sun was up high enough to reach down between the hills and touch parts of the trail, they were able to come out of their jackets, too. It was going to be a fine day.

Ahead of them Andy could see two high outcroppings of granite bisected by a narrow cleft toward which the trail was heading. Turning around and looking backwards he was treated to a view of treetops vanishing in a bluish haze and the merest hint of a mountain range in the far distance—the Laramie range, where they'd come from. Jess called back that they were almost there... just a few more minutes. And then they were.

Jess had pulled up so that Andy could take in the full panorama of the high plateau—alpine tundra embraced by vertical white granite rockfaces below snow-capped crags and peaks. Early-blooming wildflowers flourished in vast, rolling rock-strewn meadows, interspersed with clumps of wind-contorted dwarfed hardwoods and stands of white spruce. Here and there lay huge isolated boulders—erratics left behind by long extinct glaciers. Rifts of hardened snow lingered in perpetually shadowed areas.

Dead center in Andy's field of view lay a shimmering lake reflecting the blue of the sky and mirroring the smooth dome of Sugarloaf Mountain at whose foot it nestled. Its shoreline was characterized by alternating jumbles of rocks, patches of reed, and broad gravelly belts providing access to the waterline. Clustered in the center of the lake a few hardy remnant floes of thick winter ice pack floated.

It was a majestic expanse of the best nature had to offer... as yet unspoiled by the visitations of too many white footsteps. Andy couldn't find the words, his heart was too full. And yet... an anomaly—a cluster of tiny white somethings—caught his attention but hadn't yet been noticed by Jess, whose eyesight, though sharp, wasn't as keen as the boy's.

"Jess... could I have the telescope, please?"

"Sure." Jess pulled it out of its case and handed it over. "See somethin' interestin'... moose or mountain goats, maybe?"

Andy didn't answer but put it to his eye and fiddled with it until he had the tiny somethings in focus.

"Um... Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"Whereabouts on this lake were you planning for us to make camp?"

"Over there... on the far..." Jess stopped in mid-gesture and squinted. "What's that... what're those little white things... gimme the scope."

Andy handed it over and Jess readjusted it for his eye. After a moment he lowered it slowly, his face a mask of consternation.

"Well... _SHIT!"_ he growled.

"They look like tents to me...is that what you see?" Andy ventured.

"Tents all right. Four of 'em... what in tarnation are THEY doing here?"

"Uh... camping?"

"Yeah... thanks... I can see that... but why're they right _there_... right next to the hot springs, where I wanted us to camp?"

"I guess... they got here first?"

"Not only that... those're Union officers' tents!"

"So what? That's what ours is... except it's just a regular soldier's, not an officer's. Slim brought it home from the war."

"That's different!"

Andy didn't see how it was different, much less cared where the tents across the lake had originated. He was only nine years old when the war ended seven years ago, for Pete's sake! A tent wasn't responsible for its previous occupants. All they should be concerned with were the _current_ occupants... none of whom were visible at the moment. But who could they be? Four tents meant four men, at least. Probably more. And their location suggested fellow fisherman... yet there was no movement on the opposite bank other than what might be a line of laundry flapping in the breeze, no smoke from cooking fires, no beasts of burden. Where were these tent dwellers?

"So what are we gonna do?"

"Nothin'," Jess growled, jamming the scope back into its case and nudging his mount forward. "We camp this side of the lake 'til they leave."

As they approached the shoreline, Jess called Andy's attention to what appeared to be a cairn half-hidden within a grove of mature white spruce.

"There's Jim's lodge. We'll set up there for the time bein'."

At closer range the dome-shaped structure became distinguishable as a shelter composed of irregular limestone slabs with an east-facing entrance. Heavy lichen encrustation indicated its construction predated European incursion by a goodly number of years. Of obviously more recent construction were lodgepole pine timbers serving as rafters for a conical roof with pine bough thatching.

"Mr. Kelso couldn't have built this... it's been here too long," Andy dismounted along with Jess, whose next words confirmed this observation.

"You're right. The Indians say lodges like this 'un was built by the Old Ones hundreds a years before the white man came. Slim says they're the same folks what done all those cave paintins' an' rock carvins' around here... pree-somethin'."

"Prehistoric?" Andy supplied.

"Yeah... that's it. When the first white hunters an' trappers got here—fifty, sixty years ago—they used 'em as weather shelters an' caches for their supplies an' pelts. Folks still do. Usually pretty considerate 'bout leavin' things in good shape for the next traveler... let's see what we got..."

Jess had to hunch over to clear the lintel but once inside there was room enough to stand upright. Barely. As Kelso'd said, rag torches were stacked in a wooden box right inside the entrance, along with a lidded tin bucket of pine pitch to smear on them. A lit torch held well away from the thatched ceiling revealed a primitive but practical arrangement of wooden sleeping benches wide enough for two, built out from the mud-chinked walls and high enough to stow possessions underneath. Dead center, a raised stone hearth supported a firepit under a smokehole. Aside from a few gaps in the thatch it seemed habitable. Andy doubted that any prehistoric hand had been responsible for the dozen or so crudely wrought iron hooks embedded in the older rafters.

"We gonna sleep in here instead of unpacking the tent?" Andy asked.

"Don't see why not..." Jess said. "For right now, anyways..."

Back at the ranch Jess'd mentioned that it had been known to snow in June up here on the plateau, which was why Slim'd insisted on their taking the tent. Secretly Andy was glad they had. He liked sleeping out in the open when the weather was balmy, but the prospect of trying to do that with rain or snow pelting his face was—to put it mildly—disagreeable.

The first order of business was offloading the horses and mules and hobbling them. Tall, juicy spring grasses in the surrounding meadows ensured the animals wouldn't stray far. Tack and tackle, supplies and provisions were transferred into the shelter. Twenty feet downwind from the shelter's entrance a rough circle of boulders just the right size and shape for convenient seating surrounded a permanent firepit that had been set up for cooking. Some kind soul had even left in place an iron spit and its upright supports.

Delving into the tool kit, Jess withdrew a machete, a small hatchet and a short-handled spade which he handed to Andy.

"What's this for?"

"Private Sherman's got latrine duty," Jess grinned. "Find a place over in the bushes... downwind and not too far. Don't have to be a big hole, just big enough. Leave the spade there."

"Oh... thanks a lot! And what are _you_ gonna do?"

"Cut some branches an' fix the holes in the roof."

As set-up neared completion Andy began noticing a distinct downturn in his companion's spirits. Although Jess hadn't again mentioned it, the unwelcome presence across the lake was still preying on his mind—only temporarily held at bay by the urgency of getting their own site organized.

As far as Andy was concerned, their current camp was perfectly acceptable for the duration. They were so well removed from the population on the far side of the lake that contact was easily avoidable. They shouldn't be in one another's way. True, he was a little disappointed at not having access to the springs—he'd been looking forward to relaxing in hot water and having a good scrub, now that he was citified and used to almost daily bathing—but it wasn't that big a deal. Jess wasn't at all pleased, however. As his irritation mounted, he stomped around muttering under his breath and barking out orders.

Andy finally had enough. "Quit bitching at _me_ , how about it? It's not _my_ fault! They have as much right to be here as we do."

Jess was immediately contrite. "I know, I know... it's just that, well... dammit!"

" _The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley,_ " Andy quoted.

"Whatsat?"

"It's from a poem written by Robert Burns in 1785."

"I mean... whatsit mean?"

"It means no matter how carefully you plan something, someone's bound to come along and screw it up for you."

"Truer words were never spoke," Jess said, with feeling.

The sun was lowering toward the western nothing else requiring attention, the two anglers undertook a bit of bank fishing before dusk. Jess got a good hit almost immediately, which went a long way toward banishing his bad mood. (A fishing pole in Jess Harper's hand was as effective a calmative as a couple of stiff snorts of whiskey... which they also happened to have packed—for medicinal purposes only, according to Slim.) Within an hour they had a nice string of pan-size sunnies which Jess gutted and scaled while Andy fried potatoes and onions in bacon grease.

Engrossed in the preparation and consuming of their first official onsite dinner, Jess and Andy failed to notice the arrival and subsequent activity of their neighbors across the lake. It was only in the alpenglow accompanying sunset, while enjoying their evening coffee with evaporated milk and sugar, that they realized ant-like figures were now bustling around on the opposite shore. Andy fetched the telescope from the hut and trained it on the alien encampment. Then he gasped.

"Uh oh!"

"What? Whaddya see?" Jess asked.

"Women," Andy answered with a croak. "Girls. Females."

"Women? Awwww... go on... you're pullin' my leg! What'd women be doin' up here?"

"One of 'em's looking at us through field glasses and the one standing next to her has a rifle."

"Gimme that thing!" Jess wrenched the instrument away from him and peered through it.

"I'll be damned. Women!"

"Whadda we do, Jess? I mean... _they_ know _we_ know _they_ know we're here... should we go over and introduce ourselves or what?"

Jess was shaking his head. "We don't do nothin'! Their menfolk must be out huntin' or somethin'... for dang sure we don't wanna be over there botherin' their women when they come ridin' in."

"So... what, then?"

"So we stay on our side all quiet and peaceful like, mindin' our own business and go to bed, is what. Then we'll see what's what in the mornin'."

As Andy drifted off, _'pink freckle-breasted spiny-finned flydarter'_ flew into his mind. So _that's_ what Jim and Chance Kelso had been snickering about—they'd known about the women all along! Yup... pretty good practical joke!


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9:_ **TRANSITIONS**

But there was no 'what' to see when the campers arose at sunrise, dressing hurriedly before the blanket warmth could escape their bodies. They exited their stone bower to find a sparkling scrim of frost lending a crisp, crystalline beauty to the landscape. When Andy puzzled why a low-lying saucer of mist obscured the far shore while their side was clear, Jess explained it was vapor from the hot springs, and that it would burn off very shortly. He then limped off to collect the horses and one of the mules, saddling up while Andy rekindled the fire from the few live coals buried deep in the ashes.

While they ate breakfast, Jess outlined plans for the day.

"Too cold to do any fishin' right now... by late afternoon it'll be warmed up enough that the fish'll be comin' up to the shallows to feed. We'll go rustle us up some firewood an' maybe luck up on a rabbit or two for the pot." He pointed to a stand of stunted hardwoods on a distant rise. "Should be enough deadfall there to last us awhile. We'll ride over soon's we're done cleanin' up here."

Andy agreed that was a good idea as the previous evening he'd had a hard time collecting enough wood in the immediate area for a decent fire. Arriving at the designated spot, Andy dismounted and started staking out Ranger and Clyde to graze. Jess announced he was riding on to where a known established game trail might yield something more substantial than rabbit.

"Leaving me to do the scut work, as usual!" Andy retorted sourly. "Next time _I_ get to hunt and _you_ can pick up sticks!"

"It's a deal," Jess said, flashing a wink and giving Scout a prod in the ribs.

Walking around picking up fallen limbs and branches, Andy realized with a start it had been a very long time since he'd been out and about in open country all by himself... since Jess had ridden into his life almost two years ago, as a matter of fact. Before that, with his brother always so busy with ranch and relay station work and unavailable to pal around with, and no other children living nearby, Andy had been accustomed to roaming as he pleased—within Slim's prescribed limits, of course—and entertaining himself.

Jess' arrival had changed all that... he'd acquired another brother, a playmate, a confidante and his very own personal friend all rolled into one. Aside from absences due to duty, misadventure or the few times he and Slim had quarrelled, Jess had been there for Andy ever since. Having Jess ride away from him just now, leaving him alone in this wilderness with just a horse and mule for company, brought on a twinge of apprehension. _Pull yourself together. You're dang near grown and there's nothing to be afraid of! Jess'll be back soon enough._

Taking care to not go out of sight of Ranger and Clyde, Andy soon scavenged a respectable heap of seasoned firewood, some of which needed to be reduced to manageable lengths. It was time to get to work on those. With the exertion of wielding the hatchet, he soon dispensed with his jacket, followed by the flannel shirt.

Without a pocket watch Andy had no idea how much time passed. Twice he heard rifle shots in the distance, from the direction Jess had gone. And then he got that twitchy feeling between his shoulder blades—like he was being watched. Whirling around he saw... nothing.

The slight elevation on which Andy was working overlooked the lake in its entirety. Someone walking along its western periphery would've had to occasionally detour around a jumble of rocks but otherwise would've remained in plain sight. He'd been keeping his eyes on the ground, not paying attention to anything but his mission. He supposed it was possible someone could have sneaked up on him and even now be spying on him from concealment behind a big rock.

The vapor fog over the north shore camp had dissipated. Andy strode over to Ranger and pulled the telescope out of its holder to check out what, if anything, was going on over there. Some of the ladies were cooking breakfast—that was obvious—while others appeared to be doing laundry, and some were bank fishing. No one clearly recognizable as male was in evidence. Any horses and pack animals must've been pastured in a low spot somewhere behind the camp as there were none to be seen. The only livestock in evidence was a black dog—a very _large_ dog—gamboling around the tentage and splashing at water's edge. At one point the monstrous canine stood stock still and looked back at him thoughtfully. _Surely the brute can't smell me at this distance?!_

Andy returned to his chore even though the odd feeling persisted. Soon even the bigger limbs had been reduced to convenient campfire-size lengths and he began loading firewood into the canvas panniers on Clyde's pack saddle. Ranger's head came up with a whinny of recognition as his stablemate and rider appeared around a bend in the trail.

"You sure took your time!" Andy griped, shoving the last stick into place. "I'm starving."

"Aw, quit complainin'... I got us a yearling pronghorn. We'll have antelope steak an' beans for lunch an' stew for supper. You all done here?"

"Yeah... I'm done."

"Then quit lollygaggin' an' mount up. I'm hungry, too!"

Jess had already gutted and skinned out the little buck and quartered the carcass, wrapping it in the hide—partly because he wanted to leave offal away from the camp where it wouldn't attract carrion birds... and partly out of respect for his young friend's delicate sensibilities. Andy never could stomach being around when any critter—furred or feathered—was being dispatched for the table. Once it was dead and butchered at someone else's hand, however, he had no compunction about enjoying the meat. Jess did acknowledge, however, that Andy had come a long ways toward overcoming that aversion.

Andy took care of the three animals before unpacking and stacking the firewood and covering it with a piece of canvas. Jessorganized lunch, slicing two good-sized steaks off a haunch and placing them in sizzling bacon grease in the skillet. The rest of the meat was securely wrapped in canvas and hung from a shaded branch where, with luck, it would keep for a couple of days.

It was only when they walked over to the creek to wash up before eating and Jess rolled up his sleeves that Andy observed the other's bandanna wrapped tightly around his left forearm.

"What'd you do to yourself this time, Jess?"

"It's nothin'."

"It's never just nothing with you. Let me see."

"After we eat, okay?"

"Not okay. Now."

Blue eyes and brown eyes met and locked. Jess was astonished to recognize on Andy's face an unblinking expression he'd never before seen on the younger Sherman brother... but many, _many_ times had been presented to him by the older one. Rock-solid unyielding stubbornness. Resistance was useless. Silently he offered up the injured arm for inspection.

Andy undid the blood-sodden bandanna and sighed heavily at the ragged tear across Jess' forearm.

"Right. How did _this_ happen?"

"That buck weren't as dead as I thought when I got to 'im," Jess mumbled. "He jumped around some an' spiked me before I could finish 'im off."

"Who was it always told me 'be sure anything you shoot is _dead_ before you get near it'?"

 _God, even his tone of voice is just like Slim's! When did he turn into his brother?_

"Guess I messed up," Jess confessed.

"I guess you did. C'mon. Let's take care of this first."

"It's just a scratch."

"Good try but no dice. Might need stitches."

Jess snatched his arm back, turning a shade pale. "You ain't stickin' no needles in my arm! Just put some a Jonesy's salve on it an' wrap 'er back up. 'Sides, you don't know how ta sew."

"For your information, I can too sew. Jonesy showed me a long time ago. Said a single man ought to be able to sew on his own buttons and mend a rip."

"No. No no no. No way!" Vigorous negative head shakes accompanied every _'no'_.

Andy ducked his head and looked up through his eyelashes, giving Jess his best stricken puppy expression—a trick he'd used to good advantage in the past, which almost always worked with Slim and Jess, rarely with Jonesy.

"Remember that time I cut my arm on the scythe and you had to sew it up for me because Slim and Jonesy were gone for a few days?"

"Yeah... I remember. An' I remember how scared we both was 'cause I hadn't ever did that before."

"But I let you do it anyway, didn't I? Because I trusted you. And it turned out all right. Don't you trust me?"

"I... I trust you, Andy... of course I trust you... but..."

"And I know you're not scared of a little pain..."

"No... I ain't scared... it's just that..." Jess felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He knew he was being played, dadgummit. He'd as soon cut off a finger as hurt Andy's feelings... or have the boy think any less of him... as a friend, as a brother... as a man. He tried to sound gruff.

"Guess it won't hurt nothin' for you to take a look..."

"I'll get the kit."

The gash inflicted by the juvenile antelope proved to be mostly superficial, needing only three small sutures, which Jess endured with admirable stoicism. Mostly. And another anecdote-worthy scar was added to his already impressive collection.

Although the air temperature had risen to a comfortable level by midday, the water temperature had not. Jess' expectation of a successful afternoon's angling proved unfounded. They'd even waded out quite a ways over uncertain pebbly footing to get past the shallows. Nothing was biting and their bare feet were numb with cold by the time Jess called a retreat to dry ground, glumly theorizing that all the fish must have gravitated to the other side of the lake where the water was a few degrees warmer due to inflow from the hot springs at that end. Ever so often a whoop of victory or a burst of feminine laughter was wafted on the wind. _Someone_ was catching fish and it wasn't them!

The pair sat side by side on a flat boulder, forlornly skipping stones off the ripples and waiting for their pants legs to dry out. In Jess' case, Andy was thinking, it was pure luck he'd only got wet from the knees down—between the still-swollen knee and the still-discolored foot, he'd had trouble maintaining his balance and had nearly gone down a couple of times. Andy could plainly see that Jess was in one of _those_ moods… any inquiry into the state of his pain index would be met with flat denial.

"Andy?" Jess cut his eyes sideways to Andy's profile, mistaking the expression on the boy's face as one of boredom or regret. For a fraction of a second he was transported back in time... to the earnest entreaties of a very young teenager to be allowed to ride along on some adventure or another. Slim always said 'no'.

"What?"

"I'm sorry this trip ain't workin' out like you wanted."

Andy turned his head with a puzzled look. "What makes you think that?"

"It was 'sposed to be just you an' Slim... time for the two of you to be together an' catch up... on life an' stuff. He was really lookin' forward to it... been talkin' about it for weeks. I hope you ain't gonna stay mad 'cause he couldn't come."

"I'm not mad, Jess. Resigned is more like it." Andy responded with hands spread in a 'what can you do?' gesture. "This is the way it's _always_ been with us. When I was a kid I didn't understand, thought he was just being mean and selfish. I'm older now. I can see how much responsibility he's been shouldering all these years. He's given up a lot to keep the ranch going, doing the best he could to raise me up the way he promised our mother, and trying to be a good citizen, too. He should've been married by now, with a family of his own... instead..."

"Whoa there, pard!" Jess put in hastily. "Don't go blamin' yourself! Slim made his choices of his own free will. He coulda dumped you on your Aunt Ella to raise, an' give up on the ranch... but he didn't. Your brother's a good man, Andy. The best... an' then he took in the likes a _me_ when he didn't hafta..."

"I don't know why you're always so down on yourself, Jess," Andy cut in with a flash of irritation. "You're the best friend Slim's ever had... mine, too."

"Still... he's your brother an' blood's thicker..."

"Don't even go there! Neither of you is a replacement for the other. I'm lucky to have both of you in my life. His not being able to go fishing with me is a disappointment, I'll admit... but I'm not disappointed that you're here instead. It's not like the fish'd be biting just because he's at the other end of the pole instead of you."

From the very beginning of their association, Andy'd been fascinated—and a little frightened—by Jess Harper's mercurial disposition. The man was capable of plunging from ebullience to despondency and soaring back up again before you had time to get a handle on the best way to approach him. Sometimes there was an obvious explanation for what made him tick, oftentimes not. Andy knew it made Slim crazy, too... one minute trying to coax Jess down from a flight of fancy, and the next attempting to push, pull or drag his partner back into the sunlight from whatever pit of despair he'd dug for himself.

Over time Andy'd got to be more successful than Slim at identifying and dealing with Jess' emotional crises. Sensing now that his friend was sliding toward one of his periodic depressions, Andy was determined to avert it.

"Hey... I have an idea!" Andy announced with his wide disarming smile—one of the few traits that confirmed his kinship with the elder Sherman. "I vote we do something different...".

Grinning back, Jess stood up and pointed toward the rockfall at the mountain's base. "Yeah! Over there's where the walleye like to hole up in the deep pools... we'll have to dig us some worms, though... they don't go for flies."

Andy made a face. "Actually, that wasn't at all what I had in mind..."

"Come again?" Jess was confused.

"I was thinking about... girls..."

"Girls? _What_ girls?" Jess demanded.

An arm lifted. A finger pointed across the lake. "Them girls... er... _those_ girls... and the hot springs, of course."

"What about 'em?"

"I don't see why we can't just walk over there and introduce ourselves. They look like nice enough people. If we ask politely, maybe they wouldn't mind sharing the hot springs..."

"You gone loco or somethin'?" Jess sputtered. "We can't do _that!_ "

"Why not? I thought you liked women?"

"I do... in their proper places, doin' female things like they're 'sposed to... not out here gallivantin' around pretendin' to be men..."

"Seems to me they're just enjoying a camping trip, same as us... so it would make sense they'd be dressed appropriately. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong? It ain't natural, that's what! They oughtn'ta be out here unprotected..."

"Unprotected from what? There's at least six or seven of them and they have rifles and shotguns. If there were any men in their party we would've seen them by now…"

"That's just it," Jess exclaimed nervously, "What kinda gals hang out in gangs, wearin' men's duds an' carryin' guns?"

"Jess... you've seen women wearing men's pants before... think of all the farm widows we know who don't have any sons to do the hard jobs for them. It wouldn't make sense for them to slop hogs or muck out barns wearing dresses..."

"That's different... they ain't out in public..."

Andy had to bite his tongue then. Having a headful of recently acquired knowledge could be a burden at times. He was sorely tempted to explain to his less-worldly companion how—back in St. Louis, for instance—the role of women in American society was undergoing a metamorphosis... and had been doing so since the advent of feminist reform and the bloomer craze of the early 1850s. At least this was the case in institutions of higher learning. The time-honored line between 'good' girls and 'bad' ones was becoming indistinct. One could no longer rely on a woman's appearance, or the way she dressed or spoke or comported herself, as an indicator of her social status or moral fiber.

 _Choose your battles._ Remembering Jonesy's advice about maintaining a low-keyed intellect, Andy gracefully segued back to fishing. "There's a rotten log over by the stream there. What say we root up some worms and try those deep pools you were talking about...?" Belatedly it occurred to him that, until Jess got over his wobbly knee and sore foot, the last thing they needed to be doing was scrambling over boulders.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10:_ **LADIES OF THE LAKE**

On the other side of the lake, six young women sat cross-legged around the campfire, consuming their evening repast while engaging in a similar discussion. The topic under consideration was the unanticipated and not particularly desirable presence of _men_ in the vicinity... not the _immediate_ vicinity, granted, but near enough for concern.

Perched on a flat rock at a slight remove, a seventh female listened with interest but refrained from participating in the lively discourse. As leader of Pi Alpha Lambda Sigma's fourth annual Summer Field Training Expedition, Professor Elvira Josephine Burns-Wainwright preferred to allow the six students to arrive at their own conclusions and resolutions without her influence—until or unless they reached an impasse and nonpartisan input was required. Addressed as Professor or Doctor Wainwright on campus and at official functions, she preferred the informality of 'Miss Ellie' in the sanctum of their residential chapter house or off-campus venues such as summer camp.

Timothea Rose Brewster had the floor... or the ground, as it were: "We should send a delegation over to request—politely, mind you—that they vacate the area!" Thea hailed from Vermont.

"And why should they do so?" Viva challenged. "Is this not government land, where anyone can come?" Louisiana native Vivianne Charlotte Cooper had a melodic voice redolent of the Creole community in which she'd been born and raised.

Teresa Angelica O'Brian, a Californian from a ranch near Stockton, answered. "You're correct, Viva... we have no right to ask them to leave. And, anyway, why bother them if they're not bothering us?"

"So far... but it's just a matter of time, Terry," asserted Joslynn Elspeth Randall from Alabama. "They're men. They won't be able to resist getting a closer look at us!"

"Oh... like you haven't been checking _them_ out?" chortled Lucinda Louise Benton, originally of North Carolina. "Every time I turn around, Josie, there _you_ are with field glasses in hand!"

"For your information, sisters, they've _already_ been getting closer looks at us! They've been watching us through their telescope!" The speaker was Kateri Dancing Bear, a full-blooded Shoshone from Wyoming's Wind River Reservation, located not far from where they were currently camped.

Undergraduates of the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, the six young campfellows were all members of PALS—Pi Alpha Lambda Sigma sorority, whose motto was _'Equality for Women in the Medical Sciences'_... and they represented the _crème de la crème_ of Professor Doctor E.J. Wainwright's students.

An accredited general physician, Doctor Wainwright held first chair in anatomy and physiology at WMCP, although she also taught such arcane subjects as cultural sociology and anthropology. In addition, she presided over the chapter house wherein resided twenty-four aspiring physicians and nurses. Though considering herself a moderate—rather than a rabid—feminist, Doctor Wainwright nurtured a fervent belief in the necessity of breaking down the barriers to the advancement of women in the medical sciences. She was deeply committed to furthering education, research and specialization in women's health issues... particularly in the developing territories where women had little or no access to modern health care.

During every summer hiatus, Doctor Wainwright sponsored a field trip for practical training under primitive conditions for those students who demonstrated an interest in pursuing careers in frontier medicine. This year her team consisted of rising seniors Thea and Viva, Terry and Katie representing the junior class, and sophomores Josie and Lucy.

After four weeks' clinical practice among Katie's people on the reservation, they were beginning the second of four planned weeks of pioneer survival training—suitably modified so as to not be too harsh on 'city' girls Thea and Viva. The other four campers were already experienced in non-urban lifestyles.

"Where do you suppose they've come from?" Josie was asking. "They look like ordinary cowboys to me."

"Wonder what they're doing, way out here?" This from Thea.

"Well... duh... fishing, what else?" Katie contributed with a hint of scorn. "As you may have observed, there are no cattle about."

"Of all the lakes around here, why did they have to pick this one?" Viva lamented. "I don't like the idea of being spied on."

Josie hooted. "Since when do _you_ not like being admired by a pair of good-lookin' fellas?"

"Not when I'm dressed like this..." Viva retorted. "And how do _you_ know they're handsome... unless you've looked, too!"

"Of course I looked. What's it to you?"

"Nothing... nothing at all. I'll bet they aren't all that cute up close and personal."

"I don't plan on getting that close..." Thea sniffed, "...and neither should the rest of you. They could be outlaws, for heaven's sake! Did you notice the bigger one limping earlier?"

"Aha!" Josie cried. "So you _did_ look!"

Terry giggled. "Speaking for myself, I wouldn't mind spearheading that delegation of Thea's so I could at least make my own assessment of their... um... attributes!"

"Terry!"

"Ladies! Let's just accept that each of us has indulged her natural curiosity via the field glasses and leave it at that, shall we?" The gentle admonishment floated down on the circle from the serene figure on the rock. "Idle speculation as to the gentlemen's intentions is pointless. In the event our paths intersect in the coming days, I'm confident each of you is quite capable of comporting herself in a dignified and ladylike manner."

Miss Ellie wasn't at all concerned with the virtue... or lack thereof... of her charges. They were all of an age to conduct their own affairs, fully informed of all aspects of sexuality and preventive measures at their disposal. Each one knew she was solely responsible for the repercussions, if any, of whatever dalliance in which she engaged. During Miss Ellie's tenure there hadn't been a single instance of one of her charges being expelled in disgrace.

"Just to be safe, however, for the time being your jaunts will be conducted in pairs... and one of you will carry a sidearm. If at any time you feel threatened—whether by four-legged or two-legged predator—do not hesitate to defend yourself. This is why we underwent weapons training."

"Yes, Miss Ellie," they chorused.

"No more going off for a stroll on your own... as Lucinda did this morning. I do hope you didn't approach their camp and stir the pot...?"

"No, m'am. I didn't go anywhere near it." Which was _technically_ true. Lucy'd happened to be manning the field glasses that morning, from the concealment of the clump of hackberry bushes screening their latrine, and noted the two men riding away from their camp, trailing a pack mule. Arriving at the isolated stand of trees on a tor, one had dismounted and the other had ridden further on. At that distance she couldn't be sure, but it looked like the smaller individual had been left behind to pick up firewood from the ground.

Lucy'd had no assigned camp duties that morning so she'd sidled away and circled around the lake to the northeast, picking her way through the rockfall until reaching a convenient crevice from which to spy on the unknowing woodsman. The longer she observed him, the more convinced she became that she knew this person... although the precise memory of how or why eluded her. Knowing she'd soon be missed, she'd returned to her own camp before the other rider returned. Never fear... the connection would come to her eventually.

"They probably expected to enjoy the hot springs," Lucy couldn't help but add now. "I feel a bit guilty that we're hogging the best place on the lake."

"Early birds get the worms... we were here first!" Josie claimed. "In fact, I feel a hot soak calling my name right now. Who's with me? It's Lucy and Katie's turn to do the washing up..."

The designated cleaning crew groaned but got up off the ground and collected plates and utensils. The other four dispersed to their tents to collect towels and spongebags. Doctor Wainwright continued sitting on her rock, intending to go to the springs later with Lucy and Katie. In the meantime, she let her thoughts drift...

Elvira Josephine Wainwright, née Burns, was the eldest of the five red-headed stairstep daughters of an unconventional South Carolinian family of medical and educational professionals—father Elijah Burns, Professor of Chemistry at the College of Charleston; mother Margot, Professor of Ancient History at Charleston Female Seminary. All five girls had been reared in the somewhat unrealistic expectation of following in their illustrious parents' footsteps and they'd done exactly that, each earning their masters and doctorates in different disciplines of science, medicine and education. Upon retirement, the senior Burns had taken a notion to relocate to St. Louis, Missouri. Only the youngest daughter had moved with them to the Gateway City.

Despite society's belief that a woman couldn't successfully juggle domestic and professional life, three of them had done that as well. Ellie Jo (EJ) was a war widow as was her next older sister, Eugenie Theodora (ET), a certified midwife raising two sons on her own. The middle sister, Eleanor Eileen (EE), a chemist, was the mother of a daughter born out of wedlock. Esme Pauline (EP), unmarried with no children, was a registered nurse.

The undisputed star of the Burns troupe was their unexpected, extraordinarily pretty and precocious bonus baby, born long after the others—Emmaline Louise (EL), who threatened with bodily harm anyone who revealed her birth name. She answered only to Emmie Lou or EL.

Emmie Lou had skipped so many grades coming up that she'd obtained her degree and license to practice general medicine at the ripe age of twenty-two... only to find that her youth, good looks and penchant for elegant attire counted heavily against establishing a thriving practice. Very few potential patients took her seriously. With so few customers and so much unclaimed time on her hands, Emmie Lou had returned to university for postgraduate studies with a view toward becoming a specialist surgeon.

This year, Easter had coincided with the senior Burns' fortieth wedding anniversary and the entire clan had congregated at the elders' St. Louis home. At dinner, Emmie Lou recounted her exploits in Laramie, Wyoming, from which she'd just returned after a second sojourn at the invitation of their uncle, Doctor John Donald Burns.

None of the physicians in Laramie had had opportunities in recent years to take sabbaticals for the purpose of obtaining refresher courses in up-to-date surgical practices, so Doctor Burns hit on the idea of having his niece conduct a seminar for them. However, as soon as she was handed down to the train platform by a porter, the uncle identified a serious flaw in his plan—no one would believe this ravishing young fashion plate was a real doctor.

It took some doing on Uncle JD's part to convince Emmie Lou that her appearance required drastic modification. Fortunately, he had not yet disposed of this late wife's effects, so she was able to concoct a suitably dowdy ensemble including a potato-brown serge skirt, a plain white cotton collarless blouse and square-toed lace-up sensible brown shoes—along with bottle-bottomed wire-rimmed spectacles. To complete the picture, Emmie Lou'd had her red hair pulled back, plaited and coiled into a tight bun at the back of her head. With great reluctance she forewent the dusting of silky face powder that usually disguised most of her freckles—without it, she looked like she'd been standing behind a cow that had eaten green apples... or so Daddy joked.

On her last evening of that first visit, Emmie Lou'd had occasion to perform, in her uncle's absence, an emergency appendectomy on a young cowboy. The rancher who'd brought him in had expressed reluctance to let her treat his friend, but there'd been no other choice. He would have died otherwise.

Four weeks later Emmie Lou'd returned to conduct a mini-seminar for a clutch of area physicians—again organized by Uncle JD. During that time she'd attended a social event‚ the annual Spring Dance, where she'd again encountered the rancher and his friend. But on this occasion, the frumpy, bumbling Emmie Lou persona had been discarded and the real Emmie Lou, radiant beauty, had made her debut... astounding both men.

The accounting of both visits had been rather dry and factual for the benefit of the parents, eliciting much laughter... but later that evening, in the privacy of the guest bedroom they shared, the youngest sister had regaled the oldest one with luridly graphic descriptions of both the rancher and the cowboy patient... and what she would've liked to do with either one or both, given the opportunity. (The Burns girls didn't mince words when it came to men and sex and could easily have held their own with the raunchiest prostitutes in town.) In keeping with professional ethics, however, she had not revealed their names.

"Well... why didn't you, then, you big chicken? Life is short and then you die," Ellie Jo had offered.

"I'm going back... Uncle JD issued an open invitation... to all of us. I'm not sure when, exactly," Emmie Lou had said, adding with a wink, "Maybe I'll let myself be caught this time!"

"By which one... the blonde or the brunette?"

"Oh... I don't know... they're both good-looking men. It'll be hard to choose... but I'm more attracted to the blonde."

Emmie Lou's praise of the beauty of Wyoming is what clinched Ellie Jo's decision to take her team-building exercise there. Uncle JD had liaised with the local Bureau of Indian Affairs agent to authorize their stay at Wind River. Father Eli had contacted his old friend and university roommate Judge Henry Garth, owner of the Shiloh Ranch in Medicine Bow, who was more than pleased to assist with matériel and horses. As Libby Lake was only forty miles from the ranch, it was further arranged that once a week two or three hands from Shiloh would ride in with supplies and to make sure all was well at the campsite. Only the day before they had received a delivery from the enigmatic, nameless and devastatingly handsome foreman and his charming blonde sidekick, so it would be another week before the next visitation.

Ellie Jo, while taking note of her charges' misgivings about the two men on the other side of the lake, wasn't particularly concerned. There was very little chance of either or both approaching the ladies' domain undetected.

"You'll see to that, won't you, Bismarck?" she spoke aloud. Lying at her feet, the one hundred forty pound Rottweiler tilted his head at the sound of his name, happily slobbering and thwacking his tail against the ground.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11:_ **BAD JUDGMENT**

Another fine day was in the offing. Except for that annoying little eponymous law that meddles with all human endeavor— _anything that_ can _go wrong,_ will _go wrong._

Jess woke up first, generously allowing his partner to sleep in while he attended to his morning constitutional, got the fire blazing, and put on the pots for coffee and shaving water. While waiting for the water to boil, he spotted the telescope tucked neatly in its sheath attached to Andy's saddle. Yesterday he'd mocked the boy for his repeated surveillance of that alien camp on the north shore. Loftily declaring himself above such petty voyeurism, Jess had refused offers to take his turn at the instrument. Not that he wasn't curious... he was. But it was the principle of the matter... he was trying to teach the boy that there were equally worthwhile pursuits in life besides ogling women. Like fishing. Still... it wouldn't hurt to have a look, would it? Just this once. Especially as Andy was sawing logs and would never know.

The results were uninteresting, aside from the fact that no menfolk had yet surfaced. Who were these females and what the heck were they doing out here? It had occurred to him earlier that perhaps these weren't girls at all but a passel of 'marys' with long hair. But no... here came several of them out of their tents, clad in nightdresses and exhibiting rather nice curves in the appropriate places. Definitely female. His questions remained unanswered.

Jess returned the telescope to its sheath just as Andy stumbled out from their bowered bedroom and made a beeline for the latrine.

"Gosh! You're up early!" Andy commented upon his return, reaching for the cup of coffee Jess extended to him. "Anything going on up at the ladies' camp?"

"How the heck should I know?" was the gruff reply.

"Just asking. No need to bite my head off. How's your arm this morning?"

"Fine. Just fine. Ain't worryin' me none."

"Hand?"

"Fine."

"Knee?"

"Fine!"

"Foot?"

Jess exploded. "Just shut up already! I was doin' good until you brung all that up!"

"Sorry. Just concerned about your well-being, Jess."

"My well-bein' ain't none a your bizness!"

"Maybe you should take it easy today. You're not as young as you used to be, you know."

Jess took a swipe at his companion, not entirely in jest, which Andy easily sidestepped as his companion lost his balance and hit the ground with a whoof.

"You tripped me!"

"Didn't. But at the rate you're going there won't be enough left to haul home in a flour sack. Better let me take over cooking breakfast before you kill yourself."

Jess glared up from the ground, breathing heavily. "If anyone's gonna get hurt, it's gonna be you, you little pissant!" Getting to his feet, he made another sortie towards Andy, who grinned and skipped out of reach. It suddenly came to him that the youngster was just funnin' him. He threw up his hands, grinning back. "Truce!

"Accepted!" They shook hands and turned to the more important business of getting on the outside of a restorative breakfast of bacon, beans and biscuits. Time to get on with some serious fishing.

Jess decided they should turn their attention to the outflow creek, flowing over a gravel bed for a hundred feet before spilling over a tier of rocks to a pool bordered by a creeping ground cover. The terrain declined at that point, with the relatively wide, shallow pool feeding a narrower stream that in turn cascaded over the next tier to a deeper pool. And so it continued, the alternating stream cutting a narrower, deeper channel to each pool in succession. The ground cover gave way to low-growing mountain huckleberries as Jess followed a game trail parallelling the stream from one pool to the next.

Andy trudged behind reluctantly, fully aware that every foot of elevation lost on this downward trek would have to be painfully reclaimed on the way back up. Personally, he couldn't tell any difference in any of the pools Jess investigated and rejected. Were there even _any_ fish in them? Why would a self-respecting fish want to live in a restricted body of water when there was that nice, huge lake above?

Frankly, Andy was beginning to have serious misgivings about this expedition. His fishing experience thus far had been pretty much limited to placid summer-warmed lakes with foot-friendly grassy banks or stands of reeds, and flowing streams with moderate currents, shallow enough to wade across. He hadn't given any forethought to the possibility of freezing his ass off... whether under tent canvas or in a rocky cairn, washing in icy water, or toting a ton of equipment up and down slippery slopes in the wake of a determined flyfisherman. Definitely, this wasn't near the fun-filled adventure he'd been anticipating.

Eventually they arrived at a pool both deeper, judging from its emerald color, and wider than its predecessors. Small trees surrounded it, providing a sparse canopy for some other variety of short dense shrubbery and shady nooks for a wary fish to hide in. As Jess paused to reconnoiter, an immense silvery form leaped from the water and reentered with a determined splash... probably the only one in the pool, grown fat and sleek and humungous from uncontested noshing on all the bugs and smaller fishies swept downstream.

Jess immediately went on point... frozen and quivering like a bird dog that had just scented its quarry. This was _it_ —Harper's nirvana. Slowly, stealthily, he played out his line, judging the best place to lay that fly. With a few preparatory whips back and forth before letting it soar majestically to dead center of the jewel-like pool, he simultaneously took one step forward...

A ruffed grouse exploded from her camouflaged nest underfoot with agitated flapping and squawks of outrage. Instinct and reaction kicked in two clicks before logic and knowledge... Jess reached for the gun that wasn't there, dropped and rolled... at same time realizing he'd just consigned his birthday present to the depths...

" _Nooooooooooooo!"_

He scrambled to his feet just in time to see the strong current sweep his brand new rod and reel over the rapids before it had time to sink, brass fittings notwithstanding. The only thought on his mind was rescuing it before it was carried too far downstream or broken up on the rocks. He started running down the game trail, heedless of obstacles...

Serving as gillie and loaded down with creel, net and extra tackle, Andy lumbered along as best he could although Jess soon disappeared from sight. The height of the path relative to the streambed itself was increasing at an alarming rate as the narrowing of the channel compressed the flow of water into a more forceful and noisy torrent. The thrashing and cursing attending Jess' downhill progress was growing fainter and Andy despaired of catching up with him. Was the man determined to gallop all the way back to Centennial?

Then Andy heard—or thought he heard—a muffled shout, more of a scream of anguish... then nothing. Just the splashing of water and wind in the trees high above. He stopped and listened and called out.

" _Jess? JESS?! Where are you?"_

Quickly dumping everything he was carrying, Andy double-timed down the path, calling out every few seconds...

"JESS! Where are you? JESS!"

A widening in the stream came into view... not a pool but a pocket of rocks and boulders over which the stream was tumbling to a deeper pool far below where Andy stood. And then he heard it... a low, distinctly human moan... and his heart caught in his throat. His best friend was in trouble.

Taking a deep breath, Andy closed his eyes and tried to summon up a condensed version of everything his Jess had taught him about tracking. One did not run hither and yon willy-nilly... one stopped in place and looked around, carefully. Searching for signs easily overlooked, hidden right out in the open. Listening for sounds, however faint, that were out of place. Even sniffing... the reek of tobacco, for instance, could linger a very long time.

So he stood very still—on point as Jess had been—and focused on his immediate surroundings... here a disturbance in the leaf litter... there a twig broken for no good reason... a hanging vine pulled down so that its leaves were pale, veiny side up instead of the glossy side...

His ears registered the moan again. Coming from _below_ his vantage point. Down there. Near the pool but out of sight. He steeled himself to sidle up to the precipice and look over the edge. Sure enough, there sprawled his buddy—the injury magnet—sunny side up on a narrow ledge some fifteen feet below... with the runaway fishing tackle caught up in a ball of exposed roots on the other side of the channel and just out of arm's reach.

An errant shaft of sunlight reflecting off brass was what had caught Jess' eye just as he'd tripped over a wait-a-minute vine and fallen, belly-down, half over the edge of the drop-off. Despite the distance it had traveled, his precious rod and reel seemed miraculously intact and undamaged. As the line had uncoiled itself it had eventually caught on vegetation clinging to the sides of the rock wall, bringing the assemblage to a halt. Jess hadn't thought twice about going down there to get it... not by dropping down from his current location, but by backing up a few feet and sliding from boulder to boulder in the streambed itself. He'd worry about how to get back up once his objective was in his possession.

Almost at the bottom, he'd reached out with his right foot toward the flat ledge barely above the water line, thinking to steady and balance himself with a handful of thick roots depending from the game trail above. His intent was to swing the other foot over to the ledge from which, if he lay on his belly and stretched his arm out, he might be able to snag a loop of line and wiggle the rod free. But the ledge—as were all the other rocks in this mini-crevasse where only a finger of sunbeam penetrated—was slick with aquatic moss. As soon as he'd put his full weight on it, his right foot had slipped and he'd turned his ankle and fallen heavily.

He must have blanked out for a moment... at first he couldn't think where he was or how he'd got there... or even _why_ he was there. Only that he was in excruciating pain. Had he made a noise when he'd gone down? He thought so but couldn't be sure... he thought he was screaming for help, not realizing that all he was managing was a whimper. All the breath had been slammed out of him as his right elbow and hip bore the brunt of his fall. He wanted to reach down and grab that tortured ankle and rub, rub, rub the pain from it... if only he could move. He was flat on his back on slimy rock, with icy water spraying in his face and a ringing in his ears. His hip and elbow were numb. His left leg was trailing off the ledge in the stream and his moccasin boot was full of water, too heavy to lift. He closed his eyes and yielded himself up to the inevitable...

 _Harper, you idot... you really done it this time! That ankle's gotta be broke... nothin' can hurt that bad and not be... probably arm, too, and maybe hip. Maybe other things._ A horrible thought crept in... _What if your dadgum back's broke... or your neck? But wait a minute... then you wouldn't be feelin' nothin'..._ His thoughts whirled around and around like a mouse in a grain barrel...

 _You're gonna get the lung fever from bein' soaked if you don't freeze to death first. There's no way Andy can get you out, you big lunkhead. Even if he does you're gonna die up here in the high country an' Andy'll have to bury your sorry ass. Did we bring a shovel? Can't remember... he'll just have to pile rocks on top a you._

 _Shame he wasted all that money on that fishin' pole... fishin' pole... hey... maybe you can still get aholt of it an' he can give it to Slim... Slim... how're you gonna explain this to Slim? 'Course... you won't hafta 'cause you'll be dead... who was it said you'd be dead afore you was thirty? Can't remember... who's that yellin'? Shut up... go away... let me die in peace... my head hurts... STOP YELLIN'... I ain't deaf, just dyin'..._

Jess opened his eyes and his disjointed, rambling pity party was interrupted by a frightened white disembodied face looking down at him from an impossible height.

"Jess... what are you doin' down there?"

"What you doin' up there? Where's the rest a ya?"

"Huh? Are you... are you all right?"

"Does it look like I'm all right?" Jess snarled, then turned his head and upchucked every speck of breakfast.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12:_ **RESCUE ME**

No two ways about it, Andrew Patrick Sherman was in a panic, scuttling back from the edge and fighting to keep his own gorge from rising. While he was hoping against hope this was just another one of Jess' not so funny practical jokes, his gut was insisting he had a serious situation on his hands. And there was no Slim to run to. No Jonesy. No Doc Burns. No Sheriff Corey. No Aunt Daisy. It was all on him to fix it... but how? True, there was a bunch of women nearby, but in his experience women mostly went all faint and helpless in a real emergency—Aunt Daisy excepted, of course.

 _Think, Andy, think! Determine injuries first and then move the victim... or is it the other way around? Gotta get him outta there... how am I gonna get him outta there?"_

Hunkered down, Andy thrust his hands into his armpits to keep them from shaking but couldn't do anything about his pounding heart. He wasn't cold but his teeth were chattering.

"Andy?" Jess' voice floated up from the void. "Andy... you still up there?"

Andy crawled back over to the edge and stuck his head over.

"I'm here, Jess..."

"I ain't feelin' too good. I think my ankle's busted..."

"Don't worry, Jess... I'm gonna get you outta there... somehow. But look... I have to go back to camp to get some rope and stuff... don't you move 'til I get back..."

Andy carefully backed away and got to his feet. A frantic sprint uphill, stopping only to scoop up the fishing gear, got him within sight of camp, where he had to stop to catch his breath and bend over to relieve a stitch in his side. A plan was coalescing in his head... maybe not a workable plan yet but one had to start somewhere.

Arriving at the shelter, Andy collapsed in a heap at the entrance, trying to marshal his scattered wits and not having advanced too far beyond 'rope.' Fine. They had rope. Plenty of it—the everpresent catchropes from his and Jess' saddles. But what to do with it? He couldn't throw a rope around Jess and drag him out by brute force. No. For one thing, he already knew Jess outweighed him by some thirty pounds—they'd both got on the commercial scales at the feed store last time they'd been in town together.

He'd need a power source to bodily lift Jess out of the crevasse—one of the mules, as neither of the horses would be surefooted enough to negotiate the game trail. Going to the provisions stores, Andy pulled out and unwrapped the oilclothed packet of sugar cubes, pocketing a handful.

Looking around, he saw that Abner was nearest at hand, cropping grass with deceptive serenity. With a lead held behind his back with one hand, and three cubes of sugar in the palm of the other, Andy approached the mule. The animal waited until the boy came close, then attempted to crow-hop out of reach despite the hobbles. Andy advanced on him again, this time with a sugar cube prominently displayed in the palm of his hand. This never-before-offered incentive effected an immediate attitude adjustment on the mule's part. He willingly followed Andy back to the campsite and stood quietly while the saddle was put in place.

Abner was at first reluctant to step onto the game trail, but his newfound lust for sugar overcame his instinct to avoid dodgy footing. Andy had a few moments of doubt when they reached the point in the trail where he had to convince the mule to pivot and reverse direction, but Abner finally consented to comply. Andy tied him to a tree and contemplated the next steps in the rescue attempt.

In the meantime, Jess had been cautiously testing body parts—one finger at a time—to see what still worked. The boy's assertion that he was going for help and would be coming right back had had a considerable calming effect. Thinking still required a concerted effort but he felt reasonably relieved he wasn't at death's door... yet. He found he was able to roll over far enough to cup water up to his face and sluice away the vomit clinging to his cheek and hair.

The source of the headache Jess traced to a sizeable hard lump above his right ear but no broken skin or blood. _Musta hit my head on the way down._ He managed to get his left leg and its sodden moc out of the water and up on the ledge... but when he attempted to use his right foot to maneuver himself to a slightly more comfortable position, a lightning bolt of tooth-rattling pain shot up his leg. Prudently, then, he decided to lie very, very still until Andy returned.

 _If I'da put on boots instead a these mocs I wouldn'ta busted my ankle. Why didn't I wear the dadgum boots? Oh… yeah… 'cause they're for ridin', not walkin'…_

There was no way to gauge the passing of time as Jess lay there, cold, wet and miserable. Finding a broken branch close at hand, he tried to hook his precious fishing tackle and draw it close enough to grab, but the line was too tangled in exposed roots to give way. Eventually he gave up, mentally urging Andy to make haste as he desperately fought to ward off the gray mist encroaching on his consciousness.

Jess dimly perceived noises coming from above—Andy's voice in conversation with an unseen, unheard companion. Presently his face again appeared at the top of the ledge.

"Jess? Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

From some hidden reserve of will power, Jess pulled together enough lucidity to understand that any panic on his part might serve to unnerve his young companion. It was imperative that he give the impression he was in full command of his senses, even though his voice had gone croaky.

"Yeah... I can hear ya... who's that with you?"

"Just Abner... he's gonna pull you up."

 _Abner? Abner the mule? How on earth did Andy git 'im down that narrow path? Boy always did have a way with critters. If anyone could get a lion to lay down with a lamb, it'd be Andy!_

"Jess... I'm about to throw down a rope... cover your face!"

The length of sisal thumped down on Jess' chest.

"Ow!"

"Can you make a bowline on a bight?"

"A what?"

"A climbing harness..."

"I think so..."

"Okay... take your time and make sure the knots are secure. Holler when you're ready to come up..."

With numb fingers, Jess somehow managed to fashion two sets of double loops. It took some effort to get his legs into the bottom loops and hook his arms through the upper ones.

"Pull me up...!"

That part of the rescue was accomplished with deceptive ease. With Andy guiding the mule forward one step at a time, the dead weight at the other end of the rope ascended majestically until Jess dangled like a side of beef... infuriatingly just out of Andy's reach.

"Um... can you swing this way?"

Kicking out with his good foot, Jess was able to create just enough sway so that Andy could grab him by the belt. The second his damaged foot touched the ground, however, he gasped and folded. Andy hunkered down next to him, extricating him from the makeshift harness and mulling over the next step—how to get Jess up and onto Abner's back.

The best course of action seemed to be running the rope under Jess' arms and throwing the loose ends across an overhanging branch so that, with Jess' cooperation, he could be hauled to an upright position long enough for Andy back the mule up next to him. Then, with a boost from Andy and pushing with his good foot, he could pull himself aboard.

The bigger problem was getting that cooperation.

"C'mon Jess... we're almost there..."

It seemed like a clumsy expedient... but it worked. Andy was thankful no one else was around to witness his partner's ignominy in being loaded onto a mule's back like a sack of potatoes, where he slumped over with his eyes screwed shut. Andy coiled up the remainder of the rope, securing it to the horn, and went ahead to lead Abner by the halter.

With that extraordinary sense animals sometimes exhibit when their riders are injured, Abner moved uphill in dainty, deliberate steps to minimize jolting his rider. Whenever he felt his burden becoming unbalanced, he stopped and waited for Andy to prop Jess back up.

A cloud cover had blown up and the afternoon had turned chill. By the time they reached the shelter Jess' shivering had escalated to outright shaking. Andy reckoned his first order of business was to get Jess inside and out of the wind and his wet clothes. Between the two of them, they managed to do just that and Jess was rolled up in all the blankets they had. Andy quickly built a fire in the central hearth.

"Will you be all right for a while? I need to take care of Abner..."

"Go ahead," Jess mumbled. "I'll be okay."

But he wasn't... as Andy discovered when he got back. Despite being cocooned, Jess was still shivering... disoriented and giving monosyllabic, nonsensical replies to Andy's queries. He was confused, thinking it was time to get up, and attempting to dislodge the blankets pinning him down.

Andy's knowledge of practical medicine was limited to sixteen years' worth of being ministered to by Jonesy, and by observing his treatment of others for anything from minor lacerations and abrasions to gunshot wounds and broken bones. The little he knew about hypothermia was that Jess needed to be warmed up immediately... inside and out. The _inside_ part was easy enough thanks to Mrs. Kelso's gift bags of grub. After fixing hot tea laden with honey and whiskey, he managed to get a cupful down Jess' gullet without too much spillage.

Warming Jess from the _outside_ required a bit more thought. He couldn't add more wood to the interior fireplace without risking setting the thatch above on fire. Andy wracked his brains for a solution... and then it came to him. On bitterly cold nights in the ranchhouse, Jonesy would line up scoured bricks at the edge of the fireplace. Heated bricks were wrapped in layers of flannel and thrust under bedcoverings before bedtime, so that sheets and blankets would be nice and toasty when incumbents slid in. The bricks retained their warmth long enough for the sleeper's own body heat to take over.

Andy didn't have bricks but he sure enough had a lot of rocks. Soon he had a bank of them piled up around the rim of the raised hearth, and used his buck knife to cut a canvas tarp and some oilcloth into squares. While waiting for the rocks to heat up, Andy had also thought to hang Jess' wet clothes on the rafter hooks. When the rocks began steaming, Andy carefully rolled each one in several layers of oilcloth and canvas and tucked into strategic curves of the stricken man's body. As each one cooled it was removed and replaced with a reheated one.

Inbetween, Andy debated what, if anything, he should or could do about Jess' ankle. When he'd pulled off the moccasin boot, he'd observed that the joint was swollen but not grossly deformed. He tried—as best he could over Jess' objections—to determine if the ankle was sprained or actually broken. He recalled how, when he himself had sustained a sprained ankle, Jonesy had bound it tightly and issued strict instructions to stay off that foot for a few days. The medical kit yielded enough rolled bandages that Andy was able to securely wrap Jess' foot. Directing him to stay off his feet would be a wasted effort so he didn't bother.

The hours rolled by as Andy continued to rotate heated rocks and monitor his friend's condition, all the while worrying that he might not be handling the emergency properly. During Jess' brief periods of relatively uncommunicative wakefulness, Andy sat by his side, hoping his mere presence served as a comfort factor. By late afternoon Jess' body temperature had come up to near normal—as far as Andy could tell. The shivering had abated and his breathing was deep and regular as he slept.

Heaving a sigh of relief that at least one bullet had been dodged, Andy applied himself to a thorough investigation of the supplies Aunt Daisy had packed plus the remainder of Mrs. Kelso's contributions, making one cheerful discovery after another. By now Andrew Sherman was very well acquainted with Jess Harper's post-traumatic behavior: Providing he could be kept down long enough to rest, he always woke up ravenous. He'd drag himself off his deathbed if a good home-cooked meal was on offer.

Aunt Alice had insisted Andy take his turn in the kitchen learning to cook, along with the girls. Beans and bacon be damned! Here were all the ingredients needed for one of Jess' favorite dishes! By early evening, bubbling away in an iron cauldron suspended from a tripod over the outdoor fire was a primo batch of creamy oyster stew _a la_ Sherman—tinned oysters and corn, salt, pepper, diced onions, cubed potatoes and Borden's tinned condensed milk, with generous dollops of butter from the crock Mrs. Kelso had sent along. He was just pulling from the coals the Dutch oven full of biscuits when Jess woke up... refreshed, alert and hungry.

It was full dark by the time an exhausted Andy finished cleaning up and banking the fire. As expected, Jess's voracious appetite had overcome all other grievances—including the throbbing ankle.

"Where'd _you_ learn to cook like this?" Jess'd asked, in a tone somewhere between admiration and accusation.

Andy'd shrugged. "Aunt Alice. She says there's no reason why boys shouldn't learn to look after themselves instead of assuming there'll always be some woman around to do for them."

"Aunt Alice is one smart lady. I 'spose that comes natural, her bein' Jonesy's daughter and all."

Shortly afterwards Jess fell back into a sated sleep. Making his way back into the shelter with the camp secured for the night, Andy suddenly realized he had a problem: (a) he was really cold and (b) Jess had all the blankets. There was nothing for it but to drag over his own bedroll so that he could crowd up close enough to share some of the coverings. He fell asleep praying that if Jess woke up first he wouldn't be too alarmed or get the wrong idea...


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13:_ **A BRIEF RESPITE**

Andy awoke with a start, relieved to find Jess still sleeping soundly and blissfully unaware of the unfortunate but necessary proximity of their bodies. They'd both be embarrassed to death if anyone had seen them huddled together like kittens in a basket. It was one thing for some primitive cultures to conserve body heat by group sleep-ins (as Andy had learned about the Aleutian natives way up north) but red-blooded white men certainly didn't do that sort of thing. And anyway, he still had all his clothes on even if Jess didn't.

The existence of homosexuality had been possibly the most shocking discovery Andrew Sherman had made during his first few weeks at Smith Academy. As a day student rather than a boarder in the dormitory, he'd been spared exposure to more blatant displays of buggery... but a few incidents in the locker rooms during gymnasium had horrified him. Most everything Andy'd learned about human sexuality had been explained by Jess. This particular facet hadn't been addressed, however. Curiously enough, it had been Aunt Emma who, noticing Andy's discomfiture, had taken him aside for a very private and illuminating chat about diversity, natural inclinations, understanding and tolerance... which was all fine and dandy except he sure didn't want any of that directed at him!

Outside the shelter it was even colder than the day before, although the cloud cover was gone and it looked to be a sunny day. Andy visited the latrine and set about stoking two fires—the interior one for heat and an exterior one for cooking. He doubted, after yesterday's catastrophe, that fishing would be on today's schedule. However, firewood collecting definitely would be as the stockpile was almost depleted.

Andy put on the coffeepot to boil, and water for personal ablutions. In the meantime he checked on the livestock, grazing close by and in fine fettle, needing no attention. He surreptitiously trained the telescope across the lake. Nothing unusual was happening over there—only two bodies moving around close to their campfire. Apparently the rest of the ladies were also sleeping late.

Hearing Jess call out, Andy stooped to enter the shelter and found Jess sitting up and muttering savagely.

"What are you doing?"

"Lookin' for my dadgum drawers! What does it look like?" Jess snarled. "Ya gonna help me or just stand there gawpin'?"

Andy located Jess' saddlebags on one the other benches. "You should have a spare pair in here." He rummaged around for a moment and pulled them out along with the top portion.

"Give 'em here!" Jess snatched the garment away and began trying to work it over his right foot. The problem seemed to be getting the knitted cuff to slide over the wrappings. Jess swore.

"Hold still and I'll help," Andy offered. It was a tight fit and some pressure on the damaged ankle was unavoidable.

Jess hissed and clenched his teeth. "I can get the other leg myself. Breakfast almost done? I'm starvulatin'!"

"That's what I was coming to ask you... were you ready for..."

"I'm always ready. Where's my denims?"

"Hanging right here... might still be damp."

"That don't matter... get 'em anyway."

While Andy was accustomed to Jess' usual morning crankiness, he wasn't appreciating this outright rudeness. Still, he could see the pain etched on Jess' face and was willing to cut him some slack. When he handed over the requested article, Jess had already struggled into the top portion of the longhandled underwear.

"You... um... planning on going somewhere?"

"Yeah... and soon, afore I explode."

"How do you propose to get there?"

Jess looked at him as if he were retarded. "Gonna walk, lessen you got a better idea. Help me get these britches on."

Andy thought about pointing out to his compadre that he wasn't going to be able to put any weight on that foot. Upon reflection he elected to hold his peace. Jess was notoriously rebellious about being told what he _couldn't_ do. Best leave him to discover that fact on his own.

When Jess'd first started coming awake he'd felt fine. He was warm. He was comfortable. He was... naked! It wasn't so much the fact that he was unclothed... but that he had absolutely no memory of having arrived at that condition. In fact, he couldn't immediately remember _anything_ beyond going down the trail in search of... what? Something. Whatever it was, it was important. And then he tried to sit up.

Assailed by pain from head to toe, he'd drawn back under the covers. What had happened to him? Or was he just having another bad dream? He thought he'd got over those. Suddenly scared, he'd called out for Andy. And being scared had made him defensive.

Now that he was decently clothed and shod he felt contrition at his harsh words. "Sorry! I ain't feelin' too good." And then he tried to stand up. The explosion of pain knocked him flat on his ass. "Mother a God!"

Andy blinked. "Here... you might need this." It was the ornate mahogany cane Jess had spurned earlier.

After several abortive attempts to stand and walk on his own, he finally conceded—none too graciously—he needed both the cane and Andy's support to get to the latrine and back again. Breakfast and coffee did much to dispel his sullen mood though vocal rebellion against his newly-invalided status continued unabated… and Andy knew he had days of aural misery to endure until Jess was once again mobile.

"Are you sure you'll be all right alone? I'll be as quick as I can..." Andy fretted as he gathered up the reins, preparing to mount Ranger. "I wouldn't go except we're just about out of firewood and..."

"Will ya quit yer fussin' an' just get gone?" From under the brim of his hat, Jess glared up at his young partner. "I couldn't get into no trouble even if I wanted to... not in this fix!"

Andy rolled his eyes as he swung aboard and tugged on Abner's lead. Trouble had a way of finding Jess—he didn't have to go looking for it. Andy'd done what he could to create a comfortable throne for Jess—upending a saddle as a backrest against one of the flat-topped boulders near the firepit, cushioning the ground with folded squares of canvas, positioning two sacks of grain as elbow rests, making sure there was water, something to nibble on, and a blanket within easy reach. The rest of the wood was piled nearby so that Jess could grab a stick and fling it on the fire if needed. His gunbelt was folded up by his thigh, just in case.

The idea was to keep Jess off his feet as long as possible, with the injured foot slightly elevated to reduce swelling. Andy hoped that the earlier effort of helping Jess hop from the tent to the dedicated facility was agonizing enough to make him think twice about trying to move about without assistance. But you couldn't count on the man to do the expected any more than you could expect him to follow directions. The last thing Andy did was hand over his copy of Mark Twain's _'Roughing It'_.

Until lighting at the Shermans' ranch, Jess' aquaintance with the written word had been sketchy and largely confined to wanted posters and newspapers. In his sporadic short-term spells in bunkhouses he'd usually passed the few hours between supper and bedtime as did the other, mainly illiterate inhabitants… mending clothes, polishing leathers, playing cards or checkers. Evenings in the Sherman household were quite different. Thanks to Slim's and Andy's mother's love of books—which she'd passed to her sons—the family possessed one of the finest private libraries in the county and their free times were more often devoted to reading. Typically, Slim and Jonesy would each be immersed in a book while Andy pursued schoolwork at the dining table.

Some months after Jess' arrival a series of unfortunate events had brought into the Sherman's domestic fold an injured, university-educated stranger from foreign shores who'd exchanged tutoring services for bed and board. Unwittingly drawn into that intimate educational circle over the winter, Jess had acquired a taste for literature which was still evolving. He wasn't always able to follow every nuance but he generally could get the gist of a story. Mark Twain was his favorite author, hands down, so confinement to camp was less of a dreary prospect than anticipated.

Andy rode away relatively assured nothing would—or _could_ —happen in his absence. Jess had thanked him and seemed genuinely pleased to receive the reading material. Andy was fairly confident the ankle was sprained, _not_ broken, although he couldn't decide if the recommended treatment involved heat or ice. Aside from that, Jess seemed to be fully recovered.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14:_ **UNPLANNED ENCOUNTERS**

At the girls' camp... The ladies of Pi Alpha Lambda Sigma were preparing to disperse for the day on divergent missions. Ellie Jo, Thea and Josie planned to investigate petroglyphs and cave paintings reported to exist at a site some five miles north of the thermal springs. They packed a picnic lunch and expected to be gone all day.

Ellie Jo debated leaving Bismarck to guard the camp but decided to take him along. The two men on the other shore did not appear to present a threat, especially as one seemed to be mobility-impaired and the other had just ridden away with a pack mule in tow... or so Lucy had sheepishly reported, having once again been caught peeping through the field glasses.

Terry and Viva were tasked with walking the trapline that had been set out and baited to the west of the camp the day before in the hope of snaring rabbits for the pot. With secateurs, trugs, trowels, specimen bags and an illustrated compendium of native flora used in Indian medicine, Lucy and Katie set out eastward... or as far eastward as vegetation persisted before ending at the rockfall beneath Sugarloaf.

Innocent pursuits all... but with unforeseen results for the two younger teams. Before leaving, the professor had reminded the junior team members to avoid annoying the neighbors by staying away from the camp on the opposite shore. It wasn't so much a demand as a strongly worded suggestion because Ellie Jo chose to maintain the position that—as responsible adults—her students were capable of making their own prudent decisions.

Lucy and Katie were a contrast in appearance. Katie was classic high plains Shoshone, dark-eyed and copper-skinned with silky blue-black hair that shimmered to her waist when not in braids. Lucy's nimbus of blonde curls, defying confinement by pins or nets, framed an elfin face dominated by cornflower blue eyes. Katie was tall and stately, a full head above her diminutive friend. They were approaching the jumble of huge rocks interrupting the lake's eastern shore.

"I guess this is where we turn around and go back," Katie observed. "That landslide is too recent and too dense to have anything we want growing in there."

" _Au contraire!_ " Lucy quipped with a smug grin. "There's some open pockets in there that you can't see from this angle... at least three or four of the species we're after are doing really well in there, protected from the wind."

"How do you know?" Katie asked, puzzled. "There's no way in..."

"That's what you think... follow me..."

Natural bridging of the falling rock had provided interconnecting tunnels through the obstruction, widening into gaps where the elusive plants were indeed flourishing in healthy bunches. Katie gradually became aware that Lucy was leading her farther and farther into the rockpile.

"I don't think this is safe, Luce... we should turn back..."

"Don't be a spoilsport... I want to show you something... come on, it's safe enough... mind your head, though..."

They eeled their way through narrow apertures until Lucy stopped and turned, putting a warning finger up to her lips.

"Be quiet now... we don't want him to hear us," she whispered.

"Him _who?_ " Katie whispered back, noting that they seemed to have reached the end of the debris field where an adit of sorts was screened by dense bushes. Here Lucy squatted and pointed toward the patch of woods that lay beyond.

Through a gap in the shrubbery Katie could make out a figure walking slowly through the trees, bending over periodically to pick up a deadfall. Had to be one of the men camping on the other side of the lake.

"What's the big deal? It's just some fellow collecting firewood."

"The deal is, I think I _know_ him, Katie..." Fishing the field glasses out of her knapsack, Lucy took a quick look and passed them over to her friend.

Katie reluctantly applied the optics to her face, just in time to see the gatherer turning in their direction. Focusing the lens on his face, she let out an involuntary squeal that echoed out of their little stone cubby, alerting him to their presence. He straightened up and froze in place, staring intently in their direction. The slow rumbling arising from Katie's diaphragm turned into a belly laugh.

"What's the matter?" Lucy hissed. "What's so funny?"

Following the trapline... Terry and Viva weren't doing too badly—not even halfway along and two plump young hares already in the bag. They'd need at least two or three more of the same size to feed seven mouths that night. The former creole débutante was describing the sheer gastronomic elegance of _lapin à la bourguignon_ served from a silver tureen by white-gloved hands. Terry's response was a snicker and the comment that a good red wine was a bit hard to come by this far away from civilization. Most likely they'd be enjoying fried rabbit quarters with flour gravy over rice for supper unless she was lucky enough to flush any game birds with the small-bore shotgun she carried for the purpose. In which case they'd have fried bird quarters with flour gravy over rice. With a side of rabbit stew.

Dressing out game was all in a day's work for the ranch-raised Californian whereas the more fastidious New Orleanian preferred not to see her future dinners in their natural state. She wasn't much looking forward to their afternoon assignment wherein Terry was going to instruct her in the finer points of gutting, skinning, butchering and perhaps plucking.

Luck wasn't with them as they reached the end of the trapline with only one more small rabbit in the sack.

"I spotted some rock ptarmigan over there earlier... let's go see if we can scare 'em out of the bushes." Terry was waving in a generally southeastern direction from where they stood, which would bring them perilously close to where they'd been advised not to go. Viva was about to point out that fact when it occurred to her that this presented an ideal opportunity to get an up close and personal look at those mysterious men... by chance, of course.

In the woods... Andy had tensed at the decidedly human noise emanating from a clump of bushes thirty feet away, undecided whether to issue a challenge or run like hell. Before he could make up his mind the bushes parted like the Red Sea before Moses and out stepped a statuesque female garbed in boots, denim britches, long-sleeved cotton shirt and ponyskin vest. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and two long plaits fell forward across her shoulders. Her face was creased in a wide grin.

"As I live and breathe... it's Andrew Sherman! What the heck are _you_ doing here?"

"I... uh..." Andy'd so seldom encountered Indian women he struggled to put a name to the face on this one. _You're stammering like a fool._

"Katie... Kateri Dancing Bear... Wind River, three or four summers ago? You and that charming brother of yours bought some horses from my father..."

"Oh... right... right! I... er... how are you, Miss... ah... Bear? How's your pa? The chief, I mean..." _She probably knows her pa's the chief, dummy!_

"He's fine. I'm fine. We're all fine. My... you're certainly _taller_ since the last time we met."

"Yes m'am... reckon I am, some." _Don't just stand there you idiot. Put the wood down!_

"Where've you been keeping yourself?"

"I'm going to school in St. Louis. I'm just home for the summer."

"Lovely! I'm at university in Philadelphia, myself."

Andy was taken aback. It wasn't unheard of for selected natives to be sponsored to eastern universities... but a female one? Preposterous!

Katie chuckled and called back over her shoulder. "Hey Luce... you can come out now!"

When the bushes parted for the second time and a tiny blonde goddess emerged, Andy was struck positively dumb.

Meanwhile, back at the boys' camp... _Roughing It_ lay open on Jess' lap, spine up. It was a knee-slapper of a yarn, all right, but a fellow could read only so much before his eyes started crossing. In his niche, Jess had dozed off—chin on chest, hat pulled over face, unbooted right foot elevated on a rolled-up blanket.

Ordinarily the report of any variety of projectile weapon would have sent Jess into a tuck and roll or some other defensive posture, whether or not prepared for the noise. But the raucous squawking of agitated birds preceding by a split second the boom of a shotgun caught him with his usual lightning reflexes on hiatus.

Hampered as he was with his back wedged into the saddle tree and elbows propped on sacks of grain, with an elevated foot missing a boot, there wasn't much Jess could do but jerk his head upwards in alarm. If the hat hadn't been in the way, he might've noticed the brace of _lagopus muta_ plummeting on a direct path toward Samuel Clemens' masterpiece... and his head.

The larger of the two birds—the male—thudded onto the book in an explosion of feathers. The smaller female, though fatally wounded, was still alive and kicking when she impacted the crown of Jess' hat. It took a few moments of frantic swatting and squirming before the nature of the assault registered itself on Jess' consciousness—along with the realization that a 591-page tome had just been forcefully slammed onto his nethers.

So it was that when the two hunters blithely blundered into the forbidden zone, intent on retrieving the additions to their evening menu, they stumbled to a halt in consternation. There before them lay their deceased prey, an open book with pages fluttering in the breeze, a black hat with a mashed-in crown, and a full-grown man with one bootless foot, curled into a ball on the ground and groaning piteously. The area around him was littered with brown and white feathers.

In the woods... Approximately a mile away to the east, a sixteen-year-old boy was being inundated by a hormonal tsunami of epic proportions. Andy'd been around lots of pretty girls since moving to St. Louis and more than one had caught his eye on closely chaperoned social occasions... but he'd never before experienced such an overwhelming attraction. His mouth hung open. His eyes bulged out. His heartbeat pounded erratically in his chest. Sweat prickled his scalp. Andrew Patrick Sherman was in _luuuuurrrrrvvvvveeeee!_

Lurking around in the shadowed recesses of Andy's temporarily indisposed consciousness was a vague notion that the face attached to the body drifting in his direction was a familiar one. Katie, observing the two of them closely and recalling Lucy's comment about possibly being already acquainted with this young man, had an _aha!_ moment. Her blonde companion obviously was now recalling _how_ they'd met while the boy himself remained clueless.

Lucinda Benton was fair enough of face and form but far from a ravishing beauty. Quite ordinary, actually... as far as a Shoshone girl could rate a white one. But there was no accounting for what caught a man's fancy, was there? And this one was besotted.

Katie knew surprisingly little about her classmate Lucinda Benton: Born to a sprawling clan of illiterate backwoodsmen in the hills of western North Carolina, where girl children were of less value than a mule. Ran away at the age of thirteen to escape the certainty of marriage and motherhood within a year. Taken in by a kindly Catholic couple emigrating to St. Louis and there educated at the Mary Seminary until the age of sixteen. At eighteen accepted on a scholarship to the women's medical university they now both attended. About the intervening two years Lucy'd been maddeningly vague. Though curious, Katie'd been too polite to press for details. No doubt a very interesting story was about to be divulged. She sidled within listening distance.

Lucy approached Andy until they were a handshake apart, though he remained as immobile as a wooden cigar store Indian.

"You don't remember me, do you, Andy?" she inquired pleasantly. "We met two years ago at your ranch... that time when everyone there was sick or hurt and we rounded up your cattle for you? You and I sat next to each other at dinner and had a lovely conversation."

 _We who?_ Katie wondered, noting the boy's evolving expression as mental gears engaged and he made the connection. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to choke out a response.

"Ah... uh... Lucy? _Sister_ Lucy? You look... uh... different..."

"I do, yes... and so do you! You've certainly grown into your teeth!"

"I thought you were... weren't you?... are you? I mean... you're not wearing that... um... head covering thing..." Andy withered with mortification. _Is that the best you can come up with, you imbecile?_

The object of his newfound adoration laughed. She had a musical laugh that tinkled delightfully in his ears, sending shivers down his spine all the way to his curling toes.

"Not anymore. It seems I didn't have a vocation after all... they released me to pursue a different career."

"But I thought... they said..." Andy stuttered. "I was told that when you become a nun it's forever..."

 _Hello! What's this?_ Katie's ears snapped to attention. Her friend had been a bride of Christ? And no longer was? This was news with a capital N!

Meanwhile, back at the boys' camp... Uncertain how to proceed, Terry and Viva looked at each other... the latter raising an amused eyebrow.

"Two birds with one volley was impressive enough... but to bring down big game as well... my chapeau's off to you!"

"Don't be ridiculous! I didn't fire anywhere near him."

"Then why's he on the ground acting like he's been gut-shot?"

"How should I know? I've nothing to do with it!"

The girls had been nervously inching forward, just in case the dark-haired man was faking it... which didn't seem likely judging from the unintelligible sounds he was making.

"We should do something..." Viva ventured.

"Yeah... we should grab our birds and hightail it out of here!"

"What sort of attitude is that? We're studying to be healers, aren't we? We have to help him... of course, if he _is_ gut-shot, then there's not much hope, is there?" Viva was seriously concerned.

Terry was seriously trying not to laugh. "Honey... that ain't his problem, believe me!"

"How would you know?"

"I guess you haven't ever observed a man who's been kicked in the _huevos._ "

Viva sidled around to get a better view of what the groundee was trying to protect. "How could he have done that to himself? Terry, we can't just leave him like this. We should at least help him sit up or bring him some water or _something..._ "

Terry sighed in exasperation. "Oh all right... but no fraternizing, okay? We render basic humanitarian aid and then we're out of here, is that understood?"

"Of course. Never get emotionally involved with a patient. Rule number one. Got it."


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15:_ **OF BELLES AND BALLS**

In the woods...Katie pursed her mouth and put both hands on her hips before leveling an accusing finger at her friend.

" _Sister_ Lucy? How come you never told me you were a _nun?_ "

"How come _you_ never told me you were a princess?"

"I asked first... and—for the record—I'm not a _princess_. Geez... who comes up with that crap?"

"I thought the daughter of a chief was considered one."

Katie rolled her eyebrows. "He's just a chief, not a king. But... getting back to this nun business... how'd you two meet, exactly? And make it snappy because we have to get back before we're missed..."

"I was a postulant in a small Dominican order—Sisters of the Divine Illumination. We were traveling by stagecoach to Laramie to set up a new convent house there in Our Lady of the Prairie parish. The folks at the Sherman relay station were in a bind, what with everyone being either sick or hurt. We stayed over a few days to help out."

"And afterwards?" Katie prompted. "You changed your mind?"

"I realized after a few months that I didn't have what it takes, Katie. It's not an occupation for the weak."

"Neither is becoming a doctor... but you're at the top of your class."

Lucy shrugged. "I'm still affiliated with the order. Once established in Laramie, we did so well we were able to pull ourselves and the parish out of poverty. The order's focus is on women's health and we voted to sponsor a scholarship to train a female doctor. I was their first nominee. Like you, I've made a commitment to succeed and return to serve my community."

Katie shook her head in agreement. This she understood implicitly, although her own tuition and expenses were being underwritten by private subscription from various anonymous donors.

Andy's eyes tracked from one to the other. "You're the ones camping on the other side of the lake?" Though he was still bewitched, some practical thought processes were starting to percolate.

"That's us. We're on a working field trip... there's seven of us including Doctor Wainwright," Lucy said.

"And you're all studying to be doctors?" Andy was beginning to recognize the undeniable benefit of having six potential and one actual physician within close range... even if they were women.

"Or nurses... or researchers... or chemists... whatever's needed to advance the role of women as medical practitioners," Katie stated firmly. "Look, Lucy... we really need to start back or there'll be hell to pay. Andy... it was nice seeing you again. Tell that divine brother of yours hello from me when you get home. Please don't say anything to your friend, whoever he is. Doctor Wainright prefers that we keep our distance from you guys, but what she doesn't know won't upset her."

"I understand," Andy agreed. "Jess said pretty much the same thing about you ladies so I'll keep my mouth shut..."

"Jess? Would that be... _Jess Harper?_ " Lucy chirped.

Oh rats! Andy'd forgot that Lucy was already acquainted with his charismatic sidekick! His heart plummeted to his socks in anticipation of the inevitable results of exposure—widening eyes, quickening breath, fluttering eyelashes, hands clasped to a heaving bosom. The man's presence reduced every other male in the vicinity to wallpaper. As a younger boy, Andy hadn't comprehended this phenomenon although he'd many times heard his brother gripe about frequently being second banana... about how it just wasn't fair! It was only after he'd become established in a more gender-integrated environment that he'd come to understand the disappointment, the ignominy of setting your sights on an enticing young lady only to be shunted aside in favor of another fellow.

Katie's brusque voice cut in. "I've heard of him... who hasn't? Never had the pleasure, though. What's so special about him?"

That's right, Andy remembered. The chief's daughter had never been to their ranch. Suddenly it dawned on him that Lucy wasn't displaying any of the usual symptoms... but laughing.

"That, my dear Kateri, is something you'll have to determine for yourself once you've met him. In the meantime, we'd better go."

"Will I see you again, Lucy?... I mean... I'd like to... very much." Andy was astounded at his own boldness, half expecting her to laugh at his earnest entreaty. Instead, the petite blonde stood on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the cheek, drawing a snort of disapproval from her companion.

"I'll see what I can do..."

The girls turned and vanished into the bushes, leaving Andy to mull over this new and overwhelming desire.

Meanwhile, back at the boys' camp... Jess fought it as long as he could, but in the end nausea won out. It wasn't the first time he'd sustained a blow to the nuts, so he knew the pain would begin subsiding within an hour. Not, however, the humiliation of lying there amongst the ptarmigan feathers and vomiting up breakfast in full view of two young women. Fortunately, he didn't get any on himself.

His involuntary moans were gradually giving way to stifled whimpers as one of the girls knelt by his side offering water and employing a moistened cloth to wipe his face. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, as if avoiding eye contact would cause her to evaporate so he could enjoy his misery in private. Didn't happen. Telling the unknown female to go away and leave him alone didn't produce the desired result, either. She ignored him.

At least she wasn't nattering on, mouthing inane endearments (as women were prone to do) intended to alleviate symptoms. No 'there, there' or 'try to relax'. In fact, all she said was 'hold still' as she dealt with him efficiently but not harshly. He wanted to protest when she called the other girl over to help sit him up, but his tongue wasn't cooperating. And before he could say don't do it they had him upright and moved back to his original position against the saddle.

As they didn't seem especially interested in talking to him, he sat there in stony silence while they went about tidying up the camp area. Girl A rekindled the fire and put the coffee pot on to warm up what remained. Girl B removed the dead birds to her haversack and swept away most of the feathers with a small branch, then used the camp spade to bury what Jess had sicked up.

Girl A marched off with a small towel and returned with it folded up in a neat square. She hunkered down and, with a deadpan expression, handed him the package. The contents proved to be packed snow. Without even asking him where he was hurting she said, "Keep that on your lap for a while. It'll help."

Jess wanted to crawl under a rock. Next she glanced at the bootless foot.

"What happened here?"

"Broke or sprained... ain't sure which."

Without so much as a howdy-do she stripped off the grubby sock and took hold of the bruised and swollen foot, manipulating it gently but firmly. It still hurt like Hades and he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out.

"When did it happen?"

"Yesterday, early afternoon."

"Probably just a nasty sprain. Should've put ice on it right away." Without looking at him the girl reinstalled his sock. "I'll get you some in a minute." She refolded the saddle blanket to gain a few more inches of elevation for his foot.

"My name's Terry. What's yours?"

"Jess..." He was about to supply his surname and then didn't. He wasn't sure why.

"Are you a doctor or something?"

"Or something. Sorry about the accident. I take it the birds fell on you?"

"Yeah. Dead on target."

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. "My fault entirely. I shouldn't have taken that shot so close to your camp."

Jess found himself wanting to smile back, so he did. She was right pretty, this Terry, with chocolate brown eyes and shiny brunette hair pulled back and fastened with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. Hard to reckon her age... nineteen, twenty, maybe?... but with the demeanor of a slightly standoffish middle-aged woman.

Now that _other_ girl, the one who hadn't approached him yet... _she_ was a plumb knockout. Might have a touch of native blood in her, but not much. He suspected they probably both owned nice figures under the bulky, rough outdoor clothing they wore.

Terry stood up, announcing an intention to fill a bucket with packed snow for his ankle. The other girl took her place, handing him a tin cup of hot coffee. He hoped he could keep it down. With some surprise Jess found that he'd been so busy studying the ministering angels that he'd almost forgot the insult to his privates. Or maybe the ice pack really was helping.

Girl B had punched the crown of his hat back into its proper configuration and placed it beside him before sitting with arms wrapped around drawn-up knees. She had hazel eyes and dark brown hair that had been pinned up at one point but had come loose so that tendrils hung down her neck and in her face. When she spoke it was with a faint accent he knew he'd heard before but couldn't identify at the moment. She elicited his name before volunteering hers.

"My name is Viva. You have beautiful eyes, Monsieur Jess. And eyelashes to die for!"

Jess was disconcerted by such directness. Women usually didn't get around to praising that particular feature until after they had... well... until much later. He knew he was blushing. No doubt his two attendants were part of the party on the north shore—proper, well-bred and highly-educated products of a class beyond his ken. Why would they bother interrupting their afternoon activities to tend to the likes of him? Still, he was grateful… if embarrassed.

The one called Terry rolled a towel into a tube filled with snow and firmed it around Jess' ankle. "Leave this in place until your foot feels numb. Give it half an hour inbetween applications. When your partner gets back, have him replace it with more snow. Don't sleep with it, though. And try not to put any weight on that foot for at least two days. It's still going to hurt but you should be able to get around by the third day. I see you have a walking stick. I advise you to use it... but not today. Flex the ankle often, as far and as often as you can stand to do so... otherwise it'll stiffen up on you."

Jess blinked. The entire string of instructions had been delivered without hesitation, like she knew what she was talking about. Maybe she really was a doctor... like that one who'd operated on him back in the spring.

In the meantime, the other girl—Viva—had been fussing around in the background... making sure he had his hat, his book, his canteen of water, a final cup of coffee... a blanket.

"We have to go now. I'd appreciate it if you kept this visit to yourself. Our leader would be unhappy to discover we've violated our promise to stay away. Hope you feel better soon."

With that, the pair picked up their equipment and walked away. Trailing slightly behind, Viva turned her head to give him a wink, mouthing a silent 'goodbye.' And then they were gone from sight, leaving Jess to ponder just what manner of females they really were. For sure not like any he'd ever run up against before!


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16:_ **LYING BY OMISSION**

Jess lay positioned exactly as the two young women had left him, reliving the events of the past hour and trying to make sense of what had just happened. He gradually became aware that the melting snow in the ice pack had created an enormous wet patch in his lap... as if he had... _oh no!_ He'd already determined that he wasn't going to mention the incident to Andy. There'd be no point in it... the Terry girl had made it very clear she and her companion had no desire to be lauded as Good Samaritans and wished no further contact between their camps. That the only reason she'd agreed to render aid was because he'd been injured through _her_ actions. Granted it was an accident... but that didn't make her less culpable.

Jess noted that his missile-induced distress had abated to a background throb and that his numbed foot wasn't giving him any trouble at present... as long as he didn't move it. But she'd said _to_ move it... often. Maybe in a little while he'd try. But right now he had to turn his attention to disguising the evidence. Not an easy matter when you're more or less confined to sitting on your ass on the ground.

From somewhere close by a horse whinnied... Scout welcoming the return of his stablemate. Ranger's answering call wasn't that far off, so Andy'd be back in just a few minutes.

Jess needn't have worried about Andy cottoning on to anything amiss in the camp... the boy's head was in clouds. Of course, Jess—not knowing that—summoned up his favorite diversionary tactic when wanting to hide something: he went on the offensive.

"You damned sure took your good ole time!" Then, when Andy walked the horse and mule right past him without acknowledgment... "HEY!"

"Huh? What?" Andy pulled up and looked around in confusion as if just this minute discovering he'd reached his destination. "Oh... hi, Jess... how's it going?"

 _How's it going? I'll give you how's it goin'!_

"What took you so long? You ain't hardly got a load there," Jess growled.

Andy stared stupidly at his prone partner and then at the paltry bundle of sticks on Abner's pack saddle. It was true, he'd only collected half as much as the day before. After the girls had departed, he'd wandered around in circles, unable to focus on the task at hand. He couldn't very well confess to Jess that not only had he been consorting with the 'enemy', he'd found he couldn't think about Lucy and pick up wood at the same time. Jess would rag him to death over letting a pretty face turn his head. Or else be angry over the consorting business even though it wasn't Andy's fault. Those girls had caught _him_ , not the other way around. No... he definitely couldn't tell Jess about the girls! But to his absolute dismay, a tiny white lie escaped his lips...

"I've pretty well scoured all the dry deadfalls out of that patch. Had to cover a lot more ground just to get what I got. Gonna have to look for another source tomorrow..."

"Well, okay..." Jess grumbled, "but I was gettin' kinda nervous, you gone an' me stuck here. No tellin' what could happen, you bein' all alone out there. An' I hate you havin' to do all the work on account a me bein' crippled up like this..."

 _It's bad enough I've been forced_ _into fibbing... now he's playing the guilt trip card?!_ Andy just hated that. Slim and Jess both used to pull that on him whenever he did something they didn't approve of. As a kid it never failed to make him feel bad. Now it just made him mad. The spell was broken—for the time being—and his mind cleared.

"I'm _sixteen_ , not six. I don't need you to nursemaid me. If anything, it looks like you're the one needs a nanny!" Andy looked pointedly at the large damp circle at the front of Jess' britches. Jess'd had the presence of mind to remove the snowmelt-soaked towels from his lap and ankle, wring them out and stash them out of sight behind the saddle. But there'd been no way to dry out his pants.

"It's not what you think!" Jess exclaimed hastily. "I spilled some water when I was gettin' a drink from the canteen." They locked eyeballs, Jess silently challenging the youngster to believe.

"Uhuh."

Andy gave in first. He always did. "Let me take care of Ranger and Abner and I'll start supper for us."

Jess capitulated and appealed to Andy's better nature. He always did. "Maybe you could spare a minute or two and help me up?" He nodded his head meaningfully in the direction of their pit latrine. Andy got the message.

"Sure."

With one arm around Andy's shoulder and the walking stick in the other hand, Jess hopped toward the bushes, hoping the kid wouldn't immediately notice the scattering of feathers decorating the perimeter of their camp site.

Later, in the girls' camp... Lucy and Katie were the first to get back. It was their turn to cook, as soon as the designated hunters returned with something to put in the pot. In the meantime, they wrote up the field notes on the plants they'd dug up or taken cuttings from. Next to stroll in, Terry and Viva immediately went to work, dressing out the day's catch.

The sun was lowering toward the western mountains. A collection of rinsed-out food tins held the plant specimens the collectors would be sketching tomorrow to add to their journals. Offal from the rabbit and ptarmigan carcasses had been hauled away and buried, except for the pelts and feathers held aside at Katie's request. Two Dutch ovens simmered on a bed of coals. Dumplings would go into them at the last minute. With the camp tidied up and nothing more to be done until the return of the amateur archaeologists, the girls agreed that a restorative soak in the hot springs was in order.

The isolated geothermal spring existing at the foot of Sugarloaf Mountain had somehow been overlooked in the military geological survey of the previous year. Until quite recently its presence had been known only to native tribes of the region and the mountain men who followed the fur-bearing creatures of the Medicine Bow range. Its waters emerged in the far dark reaches of a steeply angled cave some fifty feet above the valley floor, where a boiling pool of no more than four feet in diameter spilled from a quartzite basin to successive terraces of ever-widening pools at lower levels, each at a slightly cooler temperature. The mouth of the cave opened to a wide, low-ceilinged grotto overhanging and sheltering the bottommost pool.

Maintaining a toasty one hundred four degrees, the irregularly-shaped—and largest, at thirty feet across—pool was rimmed with smooth metasedimentary rock. A submerged natural ledge at just the right depth afforded comfortable seating, with the surface of the water at collarbone level. Depth varied from five feet at the far end to two feet at the forward end, where a fissure in the rim allowed outflow.

The outgoing stream formed a narrow channel that serpentined its way down a gentle gradient amid clumps of serviceberry and sagebrush before emptying into the lake. Though clusters of ash, aspen and birch obscured the line of sight between the grotto and the girls' campsite, anyone standing at the lip of the grotto's floor had a splendid view of Libby Lake itself, the mountains to the east and south, and the alpine meadows of Libby Flats.

Shortly after the field expedition had set up camp, and inspired by Jules Verne's _Journey to the Center of the Earth_ , Professor Wainwright had led a spelunking expedition into the cave, driven by curiosity to follow the spring-fed pools to their source. What their torches revealed when they finally reached the last chamber was breathtaking... brilliantly-colored pictographs clearly illustrating healing progressions from injury to health in both men and beasts. Pressed for interpretation, Kateri Dancing Bear confirmed that, according to her people, this particular cave and spring had been dedicated to and was inhabited by a spirit that imbued special powers in those who would be healers.

While this was a sacred place long known to her Shoshone ancestors, Katie explained, it wasn't necessarily off limits. They were encouraged to enjoy the waters as long as they remained respectful. In her opinion there was a lot more than simple coincidence at work here—it was fate in the form of a benevolent _female_ water spirit that had brought these future medicine women here. The professor had been inclined to agree.

In the slanting golden rays of late afternoon sun, the four sorority sisters carrying towels and unlit torches followed the winding path they themselves had cleared, leading from camp up to the grotto.

Meanwhile, back at the boys' camp... After getting Jess settled on one of the flat rocks by the fire, Andy'd backslid into starry-eyed reverie of the encounter in the woods as he set about assembling ingredients for their dinner. Retrieving the antelope meat from its branch, he'd given it the sniff test and deemed it still suitable for consumption. Jess watched as Andy—expressionless and mute as a marionette—methodically diced the meat, onions and potatoes into uniform cubes then opened a can of tomatoes. At first he assumed Andy was just pouting because earlier he'd been addressed harshly... and that made Jess feel bad. He was sorely missing the easy camaraderie they usually enjoyed when out together on an adventure.

"Andy?"

No answer. The boy couldn't possibly have _not_ heard him, even with hot bacon grease sizzling in the pot in front of him.

"Andy!"

Still nothing. Andy dumped in the meat and vegetables and stirred vigorously with a big wooden spoon. This was carrying the cold shoulder treatment a little too far!

"ANDY!"

Andy jumped back from the campfire, windmilling both arms in alarm. The hand holding the laden spoon flung grease-coated cubes and chunks of tomato in Jess' direction. Forgetting himself, the _grand jeté_ Jess made leaping off his rock would've had the _premier danseur noble_ of the Paris Opera Ballet hanging his head in shame. Batting away the blistering bits from his hair and face, he toppled to the ground in a torrent of bad language. Andy didn't know whether to offer apologies and assistance... or take notes. His own vocabulary of profanities had been significantly enriched in the past eighteen months, primarily by upperclassmen in the athletic department's locker rooms... but Jess outclassed them by a country mile.

Andy figured he'd best just shut up until Jess ran out of steam... and _then_ ask him if he was hurt. But he didn't get the chance inbetween the last bad word and that low, growly voice that announced Jess Harper had had enough and wasn't gonna take it anymore!

"Andy. Saddle the horses."

"Huh?"

"You heard me. Then pack us some clean clothes, some towels and some soap."

"Jess... what...?"

"Just do it. Help me back up on that rock first."

"But Jess... where...?"

"Just do it."

Jess had that look on his face that let anyone who knew him know the man was loaded for bear. Beneath the tousled dark hair speckled with tomato tidbits scowled the face of a man on a mission. Though giblets of vegetable matter adorned his tensed shoulders, there was no mistaking the sense of purpose they conveyed. The fabric of his shirt might be dotted with bacon grease stains and his crotch still damp, but this didn't detract from his aura of menace. A cheek muscle displaying three rising blisters twitched ominously.

Andy went to saddle the horses.

Meanwhile, heading south toward the girls' camp... Professor Ellie Jo Wainwright and her two disciples rode three abreast across veldt-like stretches of open meadow, deep in discussion of the possible antiquity and likely origins of the cave paintings they'd been investigating all day. Thea, who was pursuing a minor in medical illustration, held that the images had been inscribed on the rock walls much earlier—millennia, perhaps—than the art in the hot spring chamber. Ellie Jo and Josie opined that the similarity in style indicated creation by the same or at least closely allied primitive peoples. Their forward line of sight to the grotto, the lake and their camp was interrupted by a slender line of trees paralleling both sides of a small brook running along an east-west axis.

At the same time, in the hot plunge pool... Terry, Viva, Lucy and Katie were disporting themselves _au naturel_ in the naturally-foaming heated water. Viva and Katie, both taking minors in chemistry, were trading guesses as to the mineral content of the oddly buoyant water in which they floated. They'd already taken water samples from each of the pools—starting with the spring itself—and were looking forward to what laboratory analysis would reveal once they got back to civilization.

In this era of exponentially expanding knowledge—the so-called 'Second Industrial Revolution'—exciting new fields of scientific study were sweeping America's halls of academe. No feminist student worth her salt was ignoring these potential future equal opportunity career development paths—in case conventional medicine didn't work out. Professor Wainwright encouraged all her 'girls' to diversify their natural sciences studies. The four currently enjoying the pool had all elected semesters of geology and the new science of 'seismology'. They were discussing the theory that all the geologic hot spots in the Northwest Territories were connected somewhere deep in the earth's core.

Voices tended to echo in the low-ceilinged grotto. No matter how low an undertone one utilized, anything one said could be easily overheard at the other side of the pool. Lucy and Terry were balancing their fingertips on the ledge, letting their legs bob weightlessly behind them, both lost in their own thoughts.

Lucy suddenly giggled for no apparent reason.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh... just thinking... here we are in the altogether... What if the neighbors decide to pay us a visit?"

"Neighbors?" Terry got very still. "Why would they?"

"Oh... you know... just being neighborly. They're probably very nice gentlemen..."

Twigging to something in her campmate's tone, Terry tried to sound stern. "Lucinda Benton... _what have you done?_ Miss Ellie _said..._ "

Lucy tried to sound contrite."She didn't expressly forbid us... she merely _suggested_..."

"So you lied when you said you hadn't been near their camp?"

"Did not! Wasn't anywhere near there. He was a mile away, collecting firewood."

Viva paddled over from the other side. "Don't be such a self-righteous hypocrite, Terry... not after where _we_ went and what _we_ did today..."

Lucy's ears perked up.

Katie paddled furiously to join them. "Oh my God! You didn't hurt him, did you? He's a nice kid from a good family! If anything's happened to him..."

"Something happened but we didn't do it... exactly..." Terry defended herself and Viva. "The ptarmigans I shot sort of fell on him."

"Oh dear! Was there much damage?"

"He was _already_ damaged... sprained his ankle or something," Viva contributed.

Lucy knit her brows. "He was perfectly fine when we were with him. You must have done _something..._ "

"Nope... but I know what I would've _liked_ to have done... if Miss Prim and Proper hadn't been there!" Viva leered and waggled her eyebrows lasciviously. "He was cute as a cootie bug and so helpless!"

"And too damned young for YOU!" Lucy snapped, with a definite touch of possessive jealousy. "Not but fifteen or so!" At twenty, Viva was a year older than Lucy.

"No way!" Terry snorted. "That man's at least twenty-five or I'll eat my bloomers!"

"Actually... Andy's sixteen," Katie inserted smugly. "I know that for a fact."

"Oho! Already on a first name basis?" Viva smirked. "That's pretty fast work, _mon chéri_... even for you!"

"Excuse me?" Katie retorted icily.

"Andy? Who's Andy? He said his name's Jess!" Terry objected.

"Jess? Jess is _here?_ " Lucy and Katie exclaimed simultaneously.

"You know _him,_ too?" Viva was incredulous.

"Never met him," Katie averred.

"I'm confused." Terry rolled her eyes.

It took awhile to integrate the two accounts and figure out what had been done with or to whom by whom.

"You hit Jess Harper on the head with a dead snow chicken and he didn't even draw on you?" Lucy queried.

"No... why would he have?" Yes... Terry had noted the gunbelt but, frankly, the gentleman didn't appear to be robust enough to offer any concern. She had also noted he was quite good-looking, albeit scruffy and haggard with pain. "Is this Jess Harper someone important... or... er... dangerous?"

"Only the most notorious gunslinger in Laramie! Folks allow as how he _might_ have mellowed some since he took up with the Shermans... but not a fellow you'd want to get riled up at you! Dangerous? Oh yeah!" Lucy was laying it on thick out of sheer mischieviousness, although there was a wide element of truth there.

The other three girls mimed pretend alarm, though in reality they weren't much. Katie had grown up in a warrior-society tribe where little boys played with real bows and arrows before even getting their first loin cloths. Viva had an older brother in the Texas Rangers, down Laredo way, rumored to be lightning fast on the draw. Back home in California, Terry claimed a half-Mexican adopted brother with a reputation every bit as fearsome as Harper's. Lucy's own family dynamic in the deep blue hollers of the Appalachians featured eternal feudin', fightin' and fussin' where everyone—including women and children—was proficient with a shotgun.

Lucy's initial memory of Jess—from two years ago during her short sojourn with the Dominican Sisters at the Sherman place—was of an extraordinarily handsome young man with cobalt blue eyes. Slightly bashful, well-spoken with a throaty baritone voice, wavy dark hair... in a wheelchair with a cast on his leg. About as far from dangerous as she could imagine, although she'd later heard to the contrary. After that, before she went away to university, she'd seen him only a handful of times, in town and from a distance. He cut a fine figure on horseback! However, she chose not to mention any of this.

Terry was speaking. "Well then... who is this boy Andy and how does he fit in? What are his parents thinking, letting him associate with a known gunfighter?"

"Parents deceased. His brother Slim Sherman operates a stage relay station out of a small ranch they inherited, just east of Laramie," Katie said. "Andy goes to school in St. Louis... he's home for summer hols. Their father used to trade with my father—cattle for horses—so I've known Slim and Andy since I was little. Apparently this Harper fellow's living there now."

"Slim?" Terry interrupted.

"Matt's his given name but he's always been called 'Slim'... I have no idea why. He's tall and well-built but I wouldn't call him skinny!"

"And is he around here as well?"

"No... just Andy and, I guess, Jess."

Terry turned her head to the youngest of them. "And how do you know them, Lucy?"

"I was passing through, on the coach to Laramie about two years ago. That's when I met them."

"Do you have some reason to believe they're going to turn up _here_... at our camp?" Terry asked. "Miss Ellie's not going to like this!"

Katie answered for her blonde friend. "I believe it's quite likely. If only you'd seen Andy's face when Lucy stepped into the picture! His head spun clean around! He'll be wanting to see _her_ again, all right!"

"Oh Katie... you do exaggerate!" Lucy blushed.

As it happened, the neighbors came to visit a little sooner than expected. And it wasn't to pay their respects.


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17:_ **WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE**

Traveling in a northwesterly arc... Andy rode slightly to the left and a little behind Jess, just as his mentor had always instructed him. _("Don't never crowd my gun hand, kid!")_ Jess hadn't offered any explanations. Didn't need to—it was clear enough he had one thing on his mind and wasn't going to let anything... or anyone... deter him. They were going to those hot springs come hell or high water... or women!

Neither of them had had a bath in four days and were sorely missing that wonderful clean-all-over feeling... not that either would admit that to the other. Nosirree! Men on the trail... for whatever purpose... weren't supposed to be concerned with cleanliness. They were supposed to be dirty and smelly. It was a law of nature. They were supposed to bear the inconveniences of life in the open with manly stoicism, and not study on alleviating aches and pains by immersing themselves in hot springs.

Jess Harper was unhappily reflecting on this and his diminishing ability to disregard aches by simply ignoring them. Damn, he'd grown soft in the past two years! Here he was only twenty-eight years old, callused survivor of situations that would have defeated a lesser man, with a reputation to be reckoned with... and all he could think of was submerging his aching body in a hot spring until his bones dissolved. For shame! Not only that... the selfish little gremlin yet lurking in his soul was insisting that if he had to threaten if not actually assault a battalion of women to achieve his objective... so be it.

Although Jess hadn't bothered to change out of his filthy duds, he _had_ spared a thought for appearances... tucking his shirt tail in, buckling his gunbelt into position, jamming his only slightly misshapen hat down on his head. Stuffing his swollen foot into the oversize hand-me-down boot had proven impossible so it was back to the moccasins. He'd needed Andy's help to mount up. As he recalled, it was possible to ride right up to the pool itself and tether the horses nearby. He made sure Andy was carrying everything they needed—fresh clothing, towels, soap, a shave kit... and their two small reflective lanterns in case darkness fell before they were done.

Once mounted, Jess indicated they were going to make a wide circle to the west, away from the lake, in order to approach the grotto from north of the girls' camp. With any luck, they'd be able to take possession before the females even knew they were in the vicinity.

Andy was nervous. What if they encountered Lucy and/or Katie... and his and Jess' prior acquaintanceship with that pair was made public? Worse... what if they met up with the girls who _didn't_ know them... who might start shooting at them? And where was that monstrous black dog? Gosh, he was glad Jess couldn't see his face!

"Jess... what if they shoot at us?" Andy asked with a quaver.

"We shoot back," The words came drifting over Jess' shoulder.

Surely he's kidding, Andy thought. Then again, maybe not. You could never be absolutely sure with Jess... although as far as he knew, Jess had never shot a woman.

For his part, Jess was entertaining similar worries. What if they ran into Terry and Viva? Would the two give him away, thereby undermining his attempt to enforce a no-fraternization policy with the boy? But what if—instead—they chanced on any of the others, who might take fright and shoot before waiting around for proper introductions? If he were a girl with a gun out here in the Big Open, without her own man backing her up, that would probably be his reaction to being approached by a stranger!

Jess wasn't totally unaware of his currently unappealing appearance—he'd known hardcore desperadoes who looked far less alarming. Too, he knew he was at great disadvantage if he had to defend himself or control a fractious horse. His right hand and left arm were stiff and shaky with residual tremors. His balance in the saddle was off, as he couldn't distribute any weight to his right foot. A headache was gaining a purchase right at the base of his skull and beginning to cloud his thought processes. His back hurt and other bits still a mite tender. He had to remember to lean back from the pommel of the saddle as far as possible. Moving at any pace other than a slow walk was out of the question.

Heading due south... The explorers' mounts splashed over the brooklet and cleared the treeline onto the expanse of rolling meadow where the other four of the north shore campers' horses were grazing peacefully. A long slope dotted with bushes rose up to meet the flat, sandy apron forming the floor of the grotto around the rocky rim of the pool, itself recessed in the shadow of the overhang.

From their slight elevation Ellie Jo, Thea and Josie could see the far side of the lake over the copse of trees shielding their campsite, although the near shore and the tents themselves were still hidden from view. What caught their immediate attention, however, were the two riders heading their way from the northwest, clearly on an intercepting course.

"Bloody hell!" Ellie Jo muttered one of her favorite oaths borrowed from her best friend and adjunct professor of neurology, Miss Phoebe Miranda Elizabeth Coates-Smythe, a transplanted Brit.

"Must be those two men from the other camp," Thea volunteered.

"Coming from the wrong direction," Josie grunted, withdrawing her .22 rifle from its boot under her right leg, "So maybe not..."

"Whoever they are," Ellie Jo said darkly, reining in and pulling her own weapon, "a modest show of force should serve to dissuade them from loitering."

Odd how people's personal habits realign themselves to conform to altered living circumstances, Andy was thinking as they plodded along. In his eighteen months in St. Louis he'd got used to a daily bathing routine and found he quite enjoyed going to bed all nice and clean. All his life before that it was the Saturday night dunk in a galvanized tin tub in the parlor, or on the side porch in warm weather, at the insistence of his ma and later his brother.

When Jess had first come to live with them and entertained his young admirer with descriptions of life on the drift, Andy'd been greatly envious of the fact that personal hygiene ranked fairly low on the priority list. Not so much that Jess had an aversion to bathing as an indifference to the necessity of same. He occasionally splashed off road dust in lakes and streams but full-immersion washing with hot water and soap were reserved for rare forays into towns—if he had the money for a public bath, and if there was one. Maybe twice he'd experienced the luxury of having a bath drawn for him in the sanctity of a private hotel room.

Gradually Jess had come around to the idea of the Saturday night bath, whether or not he felt he needed one. Partly because he emulated Slim and had unconsciously started imitating the older man's fastidious ways... and partly because he understood his new lifestyle required frequent socialization with citified folks and, therefore, a heightened standard of cleanliness as a representative of the ranch _and_ stageline. Likewise, he'd started shaving every day!

The Sherman homestead's new bathroom addition contained a self-draining oval wooden tub large enough to stretch out one's legs and a separate potbellied stove with a copper reservoir just for heating up bathing water. Taking a bath was a lot more convenient. No more having to empty the tub one bucketload at a time!

Then there was Aunt Daisy... with an unyielding determination to bring civilization to the wilderness and a sensitive nose that couldn't abide body odor. Even though Slim, Jess and Mike had access to cold water outdoor shower stalls in warm weather, Aunt Daisy demanded they each climb in the tub at least once a week. More often in hot weather when they'd been sweating profusely. When Aunt Daisy decreed her will be done, it generally was.

The distance between the opposing sets of riders decreased until the riders' features became distinguishable. Both groups pulled up with a fair amount of open space between them, eyeing each other warily. To be sure, the three women looked almost as grubby as the men. Their faces, slouch hats and rough outerwear of cotton duck wore a uniform coating of grayish-brown cave dust. All three were holding rifles crosswise at the ready. At first Jess wasn't one hundred percent sure they _were_ women... until one nudged her mount forward and addressed him in an unexpectedly throaty voice, pleasingly feminine to the ear. Or would have been had Jess been in any kind of receptive mood, which he wasn't.

"Something we can do for you gentlemen? Directions, perhaps?"

"No m'am... we ain't lost," Jess shot back.

"I assume you are the pair camping on the south shore of the lake?"

"You got that right, m'am."

"As you're no doubt aware—seeing as you've been conducting daily surveillances—our party is quite well-established on the north shore..."

"Yessum, we seen that."

The woman continued smoothly. "We've been happily undisturbed for some time now and wish to remain so..."

"We ain't aimin' to bother y'all, m'am. We're just headin' for the springs up there..." So far, so good, Andy thought. Jess was managing to maintain a polite tone.

"That presents a bit of a problem, sir. Aside from myself there are six young ladies making use of that facility on a daily basis. Surely you can appreciate that your presence here... or there, as it were... would represent an unacceptable intrusion on our privacy. I'm afraid I must request that you maintain a respectable distance from our encampment for the duration of your visit."

Andy had edged up even with Jess and now had his eyes glued on the other's profile. Jess was nodding agreeably but the muscle twitching at his jaw and the set of his shoulders advertised otherwise.

"Yes, m'am, I unnerstand your concern. But, like _I_ said, number one, we ain't goin' near your camp... and, number two, we're goin' up to them springs."

"I think not." In an eyeblink the woman had her rifle up and cocked. "I'm asking you and your little friend—in the nicest possible way and in the interest of propriety and good manners—to turn around and go back to _your_ side of the lake. Stay there and there'll be no further trouble."

 _Little friend?_ Andy felt the heat rising from his own shirt collar. Who did this woman think she was, anyway... and what gave her the right to dictate where he and Jess could or couldn't go? He opened his mouth to voice his opinion when from the corner of his eye he caught Jess giving him an almost imperceptible nod to keep quiet.

"With all due respect to yourself an' your, uh, _ladies_... this is a free country. Unless you got a registered claim on this here piece a real estate, we'll be on our way... up there." Jess swept an arm to indicate the meadow around them, then pointed upwards toward the grotto. "My advice to you is, stand aside."

At the barest nudge of a bootheel, Scout obediently moved forward.

And that's when the rumpus started...

From colthood half-brothers Scout and Ranger had been carefully gentled and trained by Slim, which meant they'd long ago got past any gunshyness—especially Scout, after being handed over to Jess as his remount. What caused him to shoot straight up in the air, stiff-legged, and come down crow-hopping _wasn't_ the rifle round plowing into the ground literally between his two front feet—stinging his legs and chest with a geyser of dirt and pebbles—but the monstrous apparition that came hurtling out of nowhere and launched itself towards Scout's rider.

Ellie Jo's big black Rottweiler, Bismarck, had enjoyed a most satisfactory afternoon—roaming the uplands and chasing rabbits, all the while keeping watch over his mistress' horses while his three people mucked around in the bowels of the earth. Heading back to camp, he trotted along, easily keeping up with the trio... sometimes falling behind, sometimes forging ahead, always on the alert. This was his _raison d'être_... guarding his human protégés, defending them against harm and protecting their property. Once over the creek, he'd sped ahead to ensure all was in order at their destination. Finding it so, he'd larrupped back to resume attending the inbound riders.

But something was wrong. His people had come to a halt and were facing off two other riders... strangers! His mistress was pointing her big stick—the one that belched fire and noise—at one of them. The only time she ever used it was when hunting... or when being threatened. Employing canine logic, Bismarck deduced that the stranger, who was now pointing his own smaller stick at her, was exhibiting menacing behavior. This wouldn't do at all. With bared teeth and a bristling ruff, the black dog doubled the pace and fixed his sights on the male human. No one was looking in his direction. He knew better than to growl or bark, thereby prematurely announcing his presence. No one marked his approach until it was too late.

Weighing almost as much as the man, Bismarck had no difficulty knocking him clean out of the saddle. The man landed flat on his back with an _oomph!_ , the stick flying out of his hand. The dog would have preferred to go straight for the throat or belly, but his mistress had taught him that this was impolite and unnecessary. Arms and legs were fair game, however. A firm grip on any of the extremities guaranteed the adversary would shortly exhibit submissive behavior. Bismarck had an extremely firm grip on the man's right leg... just above the ankle. The man screamed and stopped moving.

Scout went to sunfishing with all his might. Ranger reared, squealing, and would have followed suit if Andy hadn't had such a tight grip on the reins, preventing the animal from getting his head down. As it was, he was barely managing to keep his seat as Ranger spun in circles. The three women's mounts milled around in mounting fright. They didn't mind Bismarck when he was being quiet, in shepherding mode, but at the moment they weren't making any connection between that state and the ferocious beast apparently set on savaging the fallen human. Their riders were screeching as well, adding to the din.

"Bismarck! _Nein! Aus! Gib!_ " Ellie Jo was off her horse in a flash, shouting, " _Komm! Sitz!_ "

The dog obediently dropped his prize, backed away a few feet and sat down expectantly. Little specks of blood dotted the slobber dripping from his massive grinning jaws. A fervid believer in positive reinforcement, his mistress paused long enough to pat him on the head before striding to the victim. " _Braver hund!_ _Platz! Bleib!_ "

Bismarck immediately dropped to the ground, forepaws crossed... and there, still on alert, he'd remain until receiving a new command—or until some new adverse action on the part of the stranger necessitated coming to his mistress' defense. After all, a guard dog had his priorities!

Some yards away Scout had ceased bucking and was standing splay-legged and foam-spattered. Ranger had finally come to a standstill with his head twisted around so that his nose was mashed against Andy's knee. Andy immediately jumped off, practically dragging Ranger behind him. He and Ellie Jo nearly collided head-on in their haste to reach the fallen man.

 _Hello, ground—we meet again..._ Stunned but not unconscious, Jess was trying to sort out what had just happened. Only moments before he'd eased his right foot out of the stirrup and let it dangle in an effort to relieve the ache. Something large and dark and hairy had slammed him plumb off his horse... a dog? Now it had him by the leg—he could feel its fangs sinking right through the soft leather of his moccasin boot. Hadn't Andy once told him a story about a three-headed hound that guarded the gates to Hell? The way he hurt all over... new pains overlaying the old ones... maybe he was already there. But no... beyond the ringing in his ears and the buzzing in his head there were human voices and the snorts of distressed horses.

Jess heard words being urgently shouted in some foreign tongue and the pressure on his ankle abruptly ceased. He immediately rolled over and curled up, clasping his stricken limb with both arms. In the troughs between swells of pain washing over him he could hear voices raised in argument. One was definitely Andy's, the other's was female... that contrary woman! At first he couldn't quite make out what they were saying but it was pretty obvious Andy was angry and the other person was being defensive. He kept his eyes tightly closed and played possum as the fog started lifting and the words began to make sense...

Andy was frantic... and furious. "You didn't have to shoot him!"

"Bollocks! I didn't shoot anywhere near him!"

"You have no right to stop us from going to the springs... this is open range."

By now Andy'd figured out this was that doctor person Lucy had mentioned—leader of the all-girls expedition, whose name he'd forgot. She wasn't as young the others, with tiny laugh lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes. Though not adept at guessing a woman's age, he judged she was probably around Aunt Alice's—which made her... well... _old,_ as he happened to know that Aunt Alice was thirty-seven.

" _Primo veniunt, primum servierunt!"_ Ellie Jo intoned.

"I don't care who was here first... and now look what you've done!" With his heart in his throat, Andy knelt at Jess' side and felt for a pulse with his free hand... relieved to find one.

"He's alive... no thanks to you and that damned dog of yours."

"If he hadn't pulled his gun Bismarck wouldn't have attacked him."

"What'd you expect him to do, with you pointing a rifle at him that way?"

"Oh, I wasn't going to actually _shoot_ him, for Heaven's sake! And of course he's still alive... any fool can see he's breathing. Probably faking unconsciousness, too... hoping for sympathy."

"Maybe... but he's really hurt. We had an accident yesterday. He fell, and I can't tell for sure if his ankle is broken or sprained..."

"Indeed? I'd better have a look then..."

"Are you a _real_ doctor?"

"Near as dammit. I'm Doctor Wainwright. Who're you?"

"Andrew Sherman. Andy..."

"And your friend here?"

"His name's Jess Harper... he's my best friend."

"Is that so? Well, let's turn Friend Harper here on his back and check him for injuries, shall we?" The woman hunkered down on his other side.

Jess wasn't preparedfor the strong set of hands—one seizing his shoulder and the other sliding under his right knee—rolling him onto his back again. A groan escaped as his eyes flew open.

"What in blue blazes...?" He sputtered, trying to bat the hand away from his shoulder and sit up at the same time. She pushed him right back down.

"Rest easy, Mr. Harper. I just want to see if any _other_ bones are broken. Mr. Sherman... you can assist by keeping him down..."

"Yes, m'am. Be quiet, Jess... _please!_ Let her look..."

At this point, Jess was still too addled to fight back. The discovery mission started with his shoulder and proceeded down his entire right side. When the woman's hands arrived at the compromised ankle, she deftly tugged off the moccasin boot... which hurt... a lot. Still, Jess managed to keep quiet. Until the hands began prodding the ankle.

He held it in as long as he could. Men didn't scream. Especially in front of women. What came out was a cross between a strangulated screech and a yelp.

"Aaaarrrrggghhh... stop! Get away from me!"

Jess tried to pull his foot away, which only brought on a fresh rush of pain. The woman ignored him and continued probing.

Under other circumstances Jess might've paused to admire the wideset gooseberry-green eyes in a merry face. Or the merest sprinkling of freckles in an otherwise clear complexion. Or the auburn tendrils escaping from her slouch hat. He might've wondered if the rough, shapeless clothing concealed a shapely form. With even more contemplation, he might have noted a disturbing similarity to someone he'd already met. She was a bit older than himself but what the hay? In any case, his mind wasn't where men's minds usually linger, but on his dadgummed foot.

"Leggo... you're killin' me!"

"Don't be such a big baby, Mr. Harper... oh... Josie... there you are... have a look here..."

Another female arrived and squatted nearby. This one was younger, sandy-haired with pale blue-gray eyes, not unattractive but not as pretty as the older one. She frowned as the foot was passed over to her, ignoring Jess' squawk of protest as she manipulated the joint.

" _OW! OW! OW!_... who _are_ you people?"

Green Eyes looked up at him as if suddenly noticing there was a body attached to the object of their examination.

"Oh... I'm sorry... this is Josie Randall, one of my medical students. I'm Doctor Wainwright. Josie, our patient's name is Jess Harper..."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harper," the Randall girl muttered, not looking particularly pleased at all. "Sprained, not broken," she pronounced confidently.

"I ain't your patient!" Jess barked. "Leave me alone!"

"Aw, Jess... let 'em help you," Andy chimed in. "We're kinda in a pickle here..."

A third female arrived and squatted down.

"So what've we got here?" she inquired casually.

"I'm calling grade one inversion sprain with ligament damage. What do you think?" the Randall girl said, with the doctor person nodding in agreement. Again the offended extremity was probed and rocked from side to side. Agony!

Andy's immediate attention had shifted to the women where, huddling together, they were discussing treatment options. "Rest, definitely... needs to stay off it for several days... ice, well—snowpack'll have to do... compression—longjohns'll work, cut into strips... good and stretchy... elevation always helps..."

"What about the puncture wounds, ladies? They're actually quite superficial, considering. Bismarck could've shattered the bone if he'd been trying... and then we'd have to discuss amputation."

They launched into the treatment of puncture wounds resulting from animal bites and Andy's face went white. That wretched thought hadn't occurred to him.

"Excuse me..." Jess appealed weakly, sweat now trickling into his eyes. Feeling positively helpless, he couldn't stop the moan from leaking between gritted teeth.

"Andy... get me outta here... away from these... _women!_ " he cried pathetically.

All conversation stopped and four pairs of eyes focused on him. The female in possession of his foot put it down gently. He pushed himself up on his elbows and glared at them.

Andy spoke first. "Jess... these ladies..."

"Get my horse... NOW."

"But Jess..."

"We came here to use them springs an' by gum that's what we're gonna do..." He stared directly at the Wainwright woman. "The only way you're gonna stop us is shoot us... only you need to aim better!"

"My aim is exceedingly accurate, thankyouverymuch," the Wainwright woman assured him. "If I'd intended to kill you, sir, you wouldn't be quite so obstreperous..."

Jess turned to Andy. "What'd she just call me?"

"Difficult, Jess... you're being difficult... and I have to agree with her."

"Whose side you on, anyway?" Jess huffed. "Go get my horse like I said... we're gettin' outta here!"

"Mr. Harper," the older woman entreated. "Please let us help you. If left untreated, your ankle injury could cripple you for life. You can't walk and our camp is closer. We have the facilities and the expertise to care for you."

"I can ride... and all I care about is gettin' into them springs."

"Your friend certainly has a one-track mind, Mr. Sherman. He has more determination than sense. Perhaps you could persuade him to agree to a compromise?"

Andy shrugged. "What sort of compromise do you have in mind?"

"If we help you get him to the springs, can you get him to accept our assistance?"

"I can try."


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter 18:_ **A** **DUTY OF CARE**

The doctor rose to her feet and gestured to Andy to accompany her out of Jess' earshot.

"Whereya goin'? Don't leave me!" Jess whined from his enforced horizontal position as the two younger future doctors, Thea and Josie, continued with their examinations down his left side.

"I'll be right back... don't go anywhere!" Andy quipped before loping over to join the older woman.

"I've changed my mind about the hot springs," the doctor stated brusquely. "In fact, I insist we convey Mr. Harper there as quickly as possible."

Andy did not ask _why_ she'd changed her mind. As he understood it, this was a prerogative reserved exclusively for women, with the codicil that queries were unwelcome, nor was it required that reasons be stated. It was what it was. Another thing he knew was that if a fellow just kept his mouth shut and stood there all owl-eyed and acting dimwitted, an explanation would most likely be forthcoming anyway. Doctor Wainwright didn't fail him.

"You're probably wondering _why_."

 _Well... yes, as a matter of fact..._

"As future medical professionals, my young ladies have a duty of care to those in need... and healing comes first... always. That's why we're prepared to overlook your friend's boorish behavior and see to his physical needs, above personal opinions and animosities. The water in that spring is highly mineralized and will provide immediate therapeutic relief to his constitution. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, m'am. I know about spas."

"Do you now? Well then, you should know that after an hour or so soaking in that hot water, your friend's going to be hungry, sleepy and probably chilled. The prospect of getting back on a horse and riding all the way back to your camp will be most unappealing."

"It's not that far."

"You won't have anything ready to eat when you get there."

"I can warm up something right quick."

"It'll be too dark to ride safely..."

"There'll be a halfmoon tonight..."

"Not enough! You'll have to proceed on foot by lanternlight, leading your horses. It could take a long while to get there. He won't last that long. I'm sure he'll realize that and agree to stay tonight in one of our tents."

"Wouldn't bet the farm on that..."

With hands on hips, the doctor cocked her head at the teenager and sighed.

"You're every bit as contrary and argumentative as your friend! Anyone ever tell you that?"

The boy returned her look of annoyance with equanimity, an almost-smile tickling the corner of his mouth.

"No, m'am. Because that's not true. I'm a lot more reasonable than he is. But in all other respects, Jess Harper's one of the finest men I've ever known."

The doctor rolled her eyes. "Could you at least entice him into having a bite to eat before heading back? He'd be more amenable on a full stomach..."

"I doubt it..."

Heels firmly dug in, metaphorically speaking, Jess refused any help from that Doctor Wainwright and her six apprentices... help that Andy would have been eternally grateful to accept. Privately Andy lamented that every last vestige of common sense had been wrung out of his partner by this extraordinary series of injuries both minor and major. Jess looked about as miserable as Andy'd ever seen him, except maybe for the time he'd broken his leg in the stagecoach accident and it was months before he was able to walk normally again.

Andy caught up Scout and Ranger while the doctor dispatched Thea to check that the springs weren't in use. By that time Jess had more or less recovered his mental faculties. She and Andy and Josie between them got Jess back into the saddle and started walking the horses toward the grotto. Thea met them on the way back with the news that they were clear to proceed as the other women had already vacated the premises. Though Andy advised he could get Jess get situated without further assistance, the professor made no move to leave until the injured man was dismounted and eased down onto the low rock wall at the rim of the pool.

Addressing Andy but with her eyes on Jess, Professor Wainwright assured them that the young ladies would maintain their distance from the springs, adding that she'd appreciate being apprised when the facilities were again available as she and her fellow cave-divers were in dire need of baths themselves.

Belatedly, the gentleman in Jess overcame the crankiness. He attempted to stand and would've fallen backwards into the water if Andy hadn't grabbed him.

"Sorry... shoulda figgered that out... you ladies go first. I can wait. Me and Andy can..."

"No... you're already here and, frankly, you need it worse. Josie and Thea and I will join the others for dinner now and we'll come up later."

"How'll I let you know when we're done?" Andy asked.

The doctor removed a battered watch from a pocket, consulted the time and held it out. "Here... you hang on to this—I have another. It's six o'clock now... let's say two hours? Josie and I'll take your horses down with ours and see to it that they're fed and watered. At eight we'll bring them back up again. How does that sound?"

"Sounds okay to me," Andy answered. "That okay with you, Jess?"

"Yeah, fine," and then, "Thanks. Much obliged."

Still gruffly spoken but with a smidgen of warmth, Andy noted, giving him hope that Jess might loosen up his defenses as he started feeling better. Assuming he _would_ be feeling better. Too, he was lucid enough to object to having his clothes removed before the females and the five horses were well and truly screened from sight by the bushes at the foot of the slope.

Time hung suspended in the peace and protection of the grotto. Jess didn't have much to say... mostly floating on his back at the shallower end of the pool with one hand anchored to the submerged rock ledge. At twilight the modest colony of little brown bats inhabiting the upper reaches of the cave emerged for their evening foraging. Soon afterward Andy clambered out to light the two small lanterns and check the doctor's timepiece. A whole hour had passed? Already? That meant they only had thirty more minutes before they needed to come out, dry off, be dressed in time for their horses to be returned...

A mellow golden glow suffused the interior of the cavern, with shimmering points of light reflecting from mica flecks embedded in the walls. Andy slipped back into the water, settling his butt on the ledge a few feet away from Jess but close enough to study his face. Whatever demons bedeviling his friend earlier must've been lulled into submission, taking their tics and twitches with them, and the lines of strain had smoothed out. Though Jess' eyes were closed he wasn't asleep, every now and then emitting a long, drawn-out sigh of what Andy took to be pleasure... or satisfaction. Something.

 _I taught him how to float like that. And how to swim. And how not to be afraid of the water. He taught me how to not be afraid of life._

Andy pushed off toward the far end of the pool, where a steady cascade brought down hotter water from the terrace above, and let his body free-float. With his own eyes closed, he contemplated relationships and the different feelings that accompanied them. For instance, why... and in what way... was what he felt for Jess different from what he felt for, say, Lucy?

He understood sexual attraction well enough—wanting to reach out and touch the girl, stroke her hair, hold her hand, maybe kiss her—and that this was a normal and natural urge. He didn't have an urge to do any of those things with Jess, yet in a million years he couldn't have explained just how much this man meant to him... more than a friend, not quite a brother. Even if he had the right words, which he didn't. Men just didn't vocalize those sorts of feelings... for the obvious reasons. Yet they had them. Why was it okay for him to tell his brother he loved him, but not his best friend? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But that's the way it was. He wished he had someone trustworthy he could discuss this with but... ironically... the only person he _could_ be frank with was Jess himself... and a conversation about _that_ was simply unthinkable.

As his ears were full of water, it took a while for Andy to realize that a minor commotion of some sort was going on at Jess' end of the pool. Startled, he jackknifed and went under, coming right back up choking and sputtering. He shook his head, wiping water away from his face and squinting. Oh shit! Where did those thirty minutes go? It was Doctor Wainwright and—far enough behind her that Jess couldn't see them from _his_ vantage point—those two girls, leading Scout and Ranger.

Jess had rolled over and was hugging the ledge, holding down his body so that only his head and neck protruded above the water line. He was looking up and yelling.

" _GO AWAY!"_

The doctor just stood there, looking down from the pool apron and radiating disapproval. Tucked under one arm was a bundle of towels and clothing.

"Mr. Harper, we had an agreement..."

"We ain't ready..."

"Yes. I can see that. Nonetheless, you were to vacate the pool by eight o'clock. It is now eight o'clock and, as you can see, we are ready to bathe. Please remove yourself immediately."

Even from the other side of the pool Andy could practically see the hackles rising on the back of Jess' neck and knew—even before the man said it—what would be coming out of his mouth.

"No."

"Excuse me?" The doctor's lips compressed in anger.

"I said no. I ain't ready to get out... an' you can't make me!"

Andy dogpaddled furiously toward them, determined to intervene before the contretemps got out of hand.

"Doctor Wainwright... please... just give me a minute to reason with him..."

"You stay out of this, Andy!" Jess barked. "This is between me an' her. Dadgum woman ain't caused nothin' but trouble since we clapped eyes on each other..."

"Jess... be reasonable... be glad she let use the pool at all!"

"It ain't hers to say who does or don't get to..." In his agitation Jess loosed his grip on the ledge and slipped under the water, coming up choking and spitting.

Expecting the woman to unleash a tirade of anger, Andy was surprised to see come over her face one of the most evil smiles he'd ever encountered. Setting her bundle on the rock wall, she kicked off her moccasins and began unbuttoning her shirt.

About to complete his earlier sentence, Jess mouth hung open in shock.

"Whaddya think _you're_ doin?" he demanded.

Professor Wainwright shrugged. "It's late. I'm tired and filthy. Regardless of your sensitivities, I intend to have my bath..." The shirt came off, revealing the chemise underneath.

Jess stared at her in utter consternation as she started fumbling at the buttons on her trousers.

"You can't come in here with us..."

"Of course we can. There's plenty of room for all of us."

"That ain't what I meant... lady, we ain't got no clothes on!"

"Neither will we, in a few moments."

Jess Harper had as many faults as the next man, but no one could ever have accused him of immodesty, as Andy knew for a fact. This man who'd faced death so many times was practically phobic about being caught in a state of undress by a female. Indeed, Andy'd often wondered if—even when consorting with sporting women—Jess _ever_ completely disrobed, except for the Saturday night tub bath, of course. He wouldn't even sleep naked at home although the brothers often had in hot weather.

If things went so far as this crazy doctor person peeling down to the altogether, Jess would die of shame. Hell... _he_ would, too. The trousers slid down past Doctor Wainwright's bloomers and she was going for the ribbons holding together the top of her chemise.

"M'am... doctor... WAIT!" Andy shrilled.

"Yes?" Her fingers paused on the ribbon and her eyebrows went up.

"Give me ten minutes... please! Enough time to get him out of the pool and dressed... if you could just go away that long...?"

The doctor gave him a shrewd look. "We'll turn our backs for five minutes. That's my best offer. Take it... or we're coming in."

"Thanks... come on, Jess."

Andy never moved so fast in his life, wrangling a slippery Jess out of the water and onto the rock wall, all the while conscious of the three women not so far away, facing the other direction. With no time to dry off, both of them struggled into their cutoff longjohns and denims. Andy pulled Jess to a standing position long enough to pull his pants up around his hips.

"Time's up, boys!" The doctor sang out merrily. All three of them turned in unison and walked up close, leading the horses. Thea and Josie didn't even make the first effort to disguise their interest in the many scars decorating Jess' unclothed torso... or their admiration of the torso itself as Andy endeavored to get a shirt on it and on his own. Jess refused to look at them or speak.

The doctor had adopted a nonchalant stance, hands on hips. But behind this façade of indifference, Ellie Jo was chalking up the evidence with the eye of a trained physician who, though capable of rendering medical assistance, had seldom been called upon to do so in recent years. Most of her hands-on experience had been acquired in urban teaching hospitals towards the end of the war or in the free clinic operated by the university, where she oversaw student interns.

Although outwardly in prime physical condition, injured foot aside, the marks on the visible portions of this man's body—many of them obviously gunshot-inflicted—told of a harsh life. More than likely he'd been a soldier. Possibly an outlaw of some ilk. Back east one didn't encounter this sort of damage in such abundance. It occurred to her that his life story would be marvelously illuminating... if only she could gain his cooperation. And that required a dexterous adjustment of attitude on her part. Any overt or abrupt change in manner would alarm him.

"I suggest you rewrap your friend's ankle, young man, before you set out for your camp." She sounded almost kindly.

"Yes, m'am." But the more Andy hurried, the worse mess he made of it.

"Better let me do that."

Before Jess could object, the doctor knelt down in front of him and propped his heel against one bloomer-clad thigh. With professional efficiency, she set about binding his foot and ankle with strips of cloth she'd brought up from her own camp.

Lord help him! He didn't want to look. He tried real hard not to. But he just couldn't help himself... there she was, kneeling down in front of him... and there he was, with his foot practically at her crotch. The ribbons of her chemise were completely undone... and the sheer cambric they'd been fastening together did absolutely nothing to disguise the twin delights underneath. Quite simply, just about the nicest pair of...

"Mr. Harper...?"

Jess jerked to attention, hoping against hope she hadn't caught him staring at her bosom. But he could tell from her expression he'd been caught out. That made him blush... and _that_ made him mad all over again.

"How does that feel?"

"Feels okay," he assented, adding belatedly, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

The doctor stood up then, brushing off her knees and nodding at Andy. She spoke in a perfectly natural tone as if there had been no prior disagreement.

"We'll wait until you've got your footwear on then help you get Mr. Harper onto his mount. To reiterate what I said earlier, do try to keep him off that foot as much as possible. Ice packs should help with the pain. Packed snow will do. He should be able to put weight on it in two to three days... but it could take four to six weeks to heal completely."

"Why're you tellin' him? _I'm_ the one with the bad ankle," Jess growled.

"Your young friend pays attention to good advice," the doctor retorted. "You, on the other hand, do not."

She turned to Andy. "Non-weightbearing exercise is essential to avoid stiffness in the ankle... and water therapy will help alleviate any other miseries—yes, I did happen to notice he's rather the worse for wear in other departments. I suggest you come back every day, say between six and eight? We'll arrange our schedule around that."

"Thank you, m'am."

"Do you have a timepiece?"

"Yes, m'am... back at camp."

"Excellent. Well, then... looks like you gentlemen are ready to ride..."

Jess wanted to argue... just for the sake of getting the last word on this uppity female. On the other hand, he wanted access to the hot springs. For once, he kept his mouth shut and allowed himself to be manhandled into the saddle by his buddy and a bossy lady in her underwear. Maybe the humiliation would wear off in a decade or two.


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter 19:_ **AN ALMOST UNEVENTFUL MORNING**

Jess'd moaned and complained all the way back to camp and Andy couldn't rightly fault him for that, seeing as how he himself was damp, chilled and hungry. The first thing he'd done, after getting Jess situated on a rock and swathed in blankets, was build up a blazing fire to boil some coffee and warm up the antelope stew he'd started that morning (miraculously, it'd finished cooking on its own and hadn't gone off during their absence).

Using his body as a shield so that Jess couldn't see what he was doing, Andy'd added a small measure of laudanum to Jess' portion in the expectation that a good night's sleep would have a salubrious effect on his partner's disposition. A hefty sprinkling of black pepper and a dash of Tabasco'd disguised the drug's bitterness. With his last spoonful of stew, Jess'd burped drowsily and almost fell asleep before Andy'd got him back inside the shelter and tucked in.

Andy floated to consciousness well past sunrise. Bobbing gently in the wake of a rapidly receding sleep state, he gauged how much longer he could snooze before Mother Nature turfed him out. Or his compadre did. Except that Jess, buried under a mound of coverings, was still rhythmically snoring with his face to the rock wall.

By golly, Andy _deserved_ to sleep in after yesterday's events... but—at last yielding to internal pressure—he crawled out, took care of business and got breakfast started.

Not surprisingly, Jess wasn't in the sunniest of moods when he finally made an appearance an hour later, waving off Andy's attempt to assist as he hopped in the direction of the latrine with the aid of the blackthorn stick. Andy was tempted to follow, in case Jess tripped and fell... but instead decided to tend to his meal prepping. Jess was the pig-headed sort who first had to prove to _himself_ that he was unable to do something before he'd admit it and allow anyone to help him. There was nothing to be gained by forcing unwelcome attentions on the man, as Andy well knew. Besides, Andrew Sherman had a trick up his sleeve...

"Used up most of our firewood last night... gonna need more," Andy announced, perched on his own rock on the other side of the fire and digging into his bacon and beans. "Can I count on you to stay put while I'm out scavenging?"

Jess started to object then thought better of it. "It ain't like I can do much a anything else."

"C'mon, Jess... cheer up. It's just for today and maybe tomorrow if you do like that doctor says and rest that ankle. And we really do need more firewood... I know just where..."

Jess interrupted. "I didn't bring you up here just so's you could wait on me hand an' foot an' do all the work, Andy. This was 'sposed to be a time for you to be relaxin' an' enjoyin' yourself..."

"Who says I'm not? And didn't we just have this conversation a couple of days ago? Believe me... you're more fun than a three-ring circus. Being around you is like not being able to turn away from a train wreck. I'll be going back to St. Louis with enough dining-out stories to hold me until next summer..."

Jess narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if his sidekick was serious... or just pulling his leg. "Oh, gee... thanks a lot! Er... what's a 'dining-out' story?"

"When a fellow's known for spinning good yarns, he gets lots of dinner invitations... for the entertainment value..."

"An' you're one a them fellas?"

"Guess I must be... people are always asking for stories about life out here in the Wild West... and you in particular."

"Glad to know I'm good for _somethin'_... the dumb ranch hand for your friends to laugh about, if nothin' else..."

From the bitterness in Jess' tone, Andy immediately realized that what he'd intended as a humorous exchange had just veered into dangerous territory. Putting down his plate, he folded his arms and adopted what Aunt Emma called his 'scholarly' expression, waiting silently until he had the other's puzzled attention.

"What? It's true, ain't it?"

"You couldn't be more wrong. You're my best friend. I'll admit some of the stories are humorous... but I'd never say anything to embarrass you. What people back east want to hear about are heroes... and that's what I give 'em, because that's what you are..."

"Aw... I ain't no..."

"Jess... listen to me. I want to share something with you... something private that I haven't even told Slim about yet... or Jonesy, but I think he already knows..."

"Yeah?"

"I've decided to change my major to journalism... I want to be a writer."

"But didn't you always want to be a animal doctor?"

"Maybe I can do both... I don't know yet. I'll have to talk it over with a career guidance advisor."

"A what? What's this got to do with them 'dining-out stories'?"

"Hear me out... please. I don't just _tell_ these stories, I _write_ them. I've been writing them all along, mostly for English composition classes... and I've saved them—every single essay."

"I still don't see..."

"You really like the way Mark Twain writes, don't you?"

"Yeah... sure do! Sure is different from... from..."

"From those stupid, crappy dime novels I used to love?" Andy grinned.

"I weren't gonna say that, but... yeah."

"My professors say I have the potential to write like that... maybe not as brilliantly—because Mr. Clemens is one of a kind—but good enough to make a living at it. He always manages to find the humorous side of any situation, no matter how awful... and he makes you think. You can be laughing... and at the same time be mad, glad, scared, outraged or whatever. That's the way I want to write...

When I tell a story about you... whether it's something you've done or something that happened to you... sure, sometimes they laugh, but _never_ because they see you as a fool. I want them to understand—to know, as I do—what a brave, kind, moral man you are, and _why_ you're my best friend. I must be doing a pretty good job of that because half my audience always asks if you're ever going to visit St. Louis 'cause they'd sure like to meet you in person..."

"An' the other half?"

"They don't believe you're real. They think I made you up!"

"Well... I'll be... will we... will _I_... ever get to read them stories?"

"Oh sure... eventually. I hope to someday get them published in an anthology... that's a collection of stories. They'll need a lot of polishing. First I need to learn more about the technical side of writing and publishing..."

With Jess at last seemingly mollified, Andy figured it was time to tackle the issue of keeping his buddy occupied and out of trouble. This time, though, he was prepared...

A cursory exploration beforehand had produced a promising spot for sedentary bank fishing—an outcropping of sandstone jutting out over the water, naturally configured for human seating, backrest and all. A krumholz spruce struggling from the jumbled rocks provided a patch of filtered shade over a cushion of dry pine needles under a folded saddleblanket. One of the wicker pack saddle panniers made a handy armrest as well as storage for personal comfort items—snacks, water... gunbelt.

Arranged within easy reach on the other side was an assortment of bait collected by Andy earlier and Jess' makeshift tackle box, fashioned from an old wooden tool chest with a lift-out compartmented tray for small items. It was too early in the season for crickets, caterpillars or grubs, but the marshy approaches to a reed bed had yielded minnows, now darting in a pail. A bean can held fat red earthworms gleaned from leaf litter in a nearby aspen grove. Jess had his dry flies, of course, but they would only be useful in the morning while the lake was still and glassy.

The man couldn't help but grin as he viewed the set-up, appreciating the thoughtfulness his young friend had put into it. He assured Andy he'd be perfectly all right, giving him a good-natured punch on the shoulder before settling onto his fishing throne.

There's something about bank fishing that encourages serenity of mind and free-floating thoughts. For the first hour Jess exercised his dryfly casting technique over calm, crystal clear water—somewhat awkward from a seated position, but doable. Although rewarded by a fair number of strikes, it was the thrill of the catch that enthralled him more than the need to fill a frying pan. Electing to release his prizes he carefully disengaged each fish and, using the net, gently lowered it back into the water.

The sun was approaching its zenith and the surface of the lake beginning to sparkle with whitecapped riffles whipped up by a rising breeze. Time to switch over to live bait and go after those big boys he knew were lurking at greater depths farther out. Regretfully, he put away his artificial lures and re-rigged his line with a cork bobber and lead sinker.

Monitoring a bobber didn't require as much attention as keeping an eye on a fly. The angler's intense vigilance gradually yielded to a leisurely contemplation of the beauty of his surroundings—for once with a relatively untroubled mind. The sky above was clear of haze and the only clouds in sight were far to the east—white wisps like the after-harvest leavings on the stalks of cotton plants. Although the air was still cool, the radiant warmth of the sun soaked into muscle and bone, soothing old aches and pains as well as newer injuries.

Mingled scents rode on the mild gusts of wind—none clearly identifiable except for spruce. Alpine wildflowers fluttered in a riot of colors across gently rolling tundra, punctuated by rock fields, huge glacially-sculpted boulders and the occasional clusters of stunted trees. Surrounding the valley in stark contrast rose the barren vertical granite peaks of the Snowy range with their year-round snowcaps. In another month the remnant ice floes in the lake would have disappeared.

It was still a little early in the season for most migratory waterfowl but Jess observed a pair of great blue herons stalking the reed beds farther along the shore. He shared a biscuit he'd pulled out for a snack with a mountain jay. With no fear of humans, the young camp robber enthusiastically hopped onto the man's outstretched legs and attempted to tug the treat from his fingers. Peeking out from a fissure in the rocks several feet away, a marmot stood guard in case a crumb or two happened to bounce his way.

The only jarring notes in this idyllic landscape were those four white tents and a spiral of campfire smoke on the other side of the lake.

Despite the painful events of the past few days, Jess felt suffused with unfamiliar optimism... it was a good time and a good place for a man to be in the world. This was his 'Big Open'—his spiritual and physical refuge where, for half a decade, he'd felt closer to nature and salvation than he'd ever done in a house of worship. Then—on nothing more than a whim and an invitation—he'd traded his perceived freedom for the settled life of a ranch hand. It had been an easy enough decision, given he had no intention of making it permanent. Yet there he still was, with every passing year the siren call of the Big Open growing fainter and fainter.

Looking around him now, Jess realized with a jolt that he was content... even happy. He had everything a man could reasonably want—a home, a family, friends, a meaningful occupation, a hopeful future. Older and wiser than he was three years ago, he understood that the freedom he possessed now was far more precious than the ability to climb on a horse and take off whenever he got the itch to roam. What he had now was freedom from loneliness and uncertainty. The only significant omissions in his life were a wife and children of his own but these, too, would come in good time.

Lost in reveries, Jess' attention faltered at a critical juncture while rigging a replacement hook... with the inevitable consequence: he impaled himself. He stared down in disbelief at the glistening bronze shaft protruding from the web between the thumb and index finger of his right hand. The barb end was out of sight, firmly embedded in the meatier flesh just below the web. _How in hell had that happened?_

Aside from the stinging was the gut-wrenching knowledge that there were only three removal options here: slicing deeply into the muscle alongside the metallic curve until the barb was exposed and the entire hook could be lifted out... _or_... work the hook deeper until the barb emerged from the other side and could be snipped off with wire cutters. The third method—simply ripping it out—would cause the most tissue damage. All involved pain. Swearing out loud, he plunged his left hand into the depths of the tackle box, scrabbling blindly for the needle-nose pliers.

"Need some help?"

When the disembodied voice caught Jess by complete surprise his involuntary reflexes kicked in—resulting in a chain reaction of unfortunate mishaps. As he twisted his torso around to reach his gun in the pannier, the palm of his left hand encountered the unsheathed filet knife in the tackle box. And when his right hand wrapped around the pistol grip, the embedded fishhook reminded him of its presence. Worst of all, his forward-rolling momentum carried him right off the edge of his flat rock. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Jess Ewan Harper found himself looking up into the face of Professor Doctor Elvira Josephine Burns-Wainwright.

Ellie Jo hunkered downwith folded arms, regarding Jess tranquilly.

"We have to stop meeting like this. People will talk."

Even in his marginally stupified condition, he detected merriment in those green eyes and his temper flared. With his elbows he pushed himself up to a seated position, back against the rock.

"This ain't funny. Don't never sneak up on a fella like that... you coulda got yourself shot!"

"Having arrived on horseback, I would hardly call it sneaking. If you hadn't been making so much noise you would've heard me..."

"What're you doin' here anyway? Can't a man fish in peace and quiet?"

"I just came by to see how your ankle was doing. It's what neighbors do, Mr. Harper."

"Don't need your help. Don't want it..."

"Petulancy is unbecoming, Mr. Harper. Especially when you so obviously do require assistance. Let me see your hand."

"No."

"Give me your hand. Now, please..."

Jess locked eyes with her as long as he could but it was like trying to stare down a snake. The woman didn't blink. Not once. Grimacing, he held out the left one first.

Ignoring the blood trickling onto her own fingers, Ellie Jo pried open the balled fist and inspected the wound. Wiping her fingers on her shirt, she took a clean handkerchief from a pocket, fashioned a compression pad, then wound her own bandanna around his hand to keep the pad in place.

"It's not deep enough for stitches. Just be careful to keep it clean and dry for a couple of days. Other hand, please..."

Jess braced himself for some sort of snide comment while Ellie Jo inspected the fishhook situation but none was forthcoming. She rocked back on her heels.

"Have you pliers and wirecutters in your tackle box?"

In short order, Ellie Jo had established herself cross-legged next to Jess with his right hand resting palm up on her knee.

"How do you want to do this? Cut it out or push it through? I wouldn't recommend yanking it out."

"Push it through, I reckon..."

"It's going to be uncomfortable, either way."

"Lady, it's gonna hurt like hell... ain't no 'uncomfortable' about it."

"Look away, Mr. Harper... close your eyes and relax... think happy thoughts. Don't move and we'll have this done in a jiffy."

Jess was determined to not fall prey to her mesmerizing tone.

"Will ya quit yappin' about it an' just get done with... _arrrrgghhhhhh!_ "

The fire was mercifully brief.

"Don't look yet. I'll tell you when you can..."

He felt the cold metal of the wirecutters against his skin and a small tug. Heard the snick as the barb was snipped off and felt surprisingly little pain as the pliers pulled the shaft back through the entry point. Felt the sting of alcohol and pressure applied to either side of the web and held for a few minutes, then released.

"You can look now."

Incredibly, the only visible remnants were two small circular bruises surrounding two small punctures—one on either side.

In this rather awkward and proximal position, his shoulder nearly touching hers and his face a scant few inches from hers, Jess was assailed by a barrage of unwelcome thoughts. Not unpleasant but definitely inappropriate.

The doctor smelled of soap... honeysuckle, if Jess wasn't mistaken, with mild overtones of horse which he didn't mind at all. His nose wanted to leap right in there and inhale her fragrance. At such close range the few strands of silver at her temples proved her auburn hair natural rather than dyed. He'd always had an affinity for redheads, especially those with green eyes. Hers had an unusual bluish cast to them, a color Jess couldn't put a name to.

Unaccustomed to seeing a golden tan on the face and hands of a lady, Jess decided he rather liked it—certainly a radical departure from the buttermilk white skin diligently cultured by most women of his acquaintance. He wondered if possibly that sunglow extended to the glorious bosom he'd been privileged to glimpse the evening before, currently concealed under a patterned cotton shirt buttoned up to the throat. He found himself wanting to touch her, to taste her and... most perplexing of all... to _talk_ with her. Being more interested in a woman's mind than her body was a totally alien concept for him, in which respect he knew he was no different from any other man.

Jess was jerked out of his fantasy as his hand was returned to him and the doctor arose.

"I'll be running along now so you can get on with your fishing, Mr. Harper. Sorry to have interrupted your morning."

He wanted her to go. He wanted her to stay. He wasn't at all sure just _what_ he wanted. Fully aware that he was blessed with a certain charm that rendered him irresistible to the opposite sex, Jess was nonetheless unnerved in this instance. He couldn't recall ever before having experienced such a powerful, visceral attraction to an older woman.

"Thanks for helping me out, Miss... uh... Doctor..." Courtesy dictated he should also stand up... but there was no way. The doctor didn't seem to notice.

"Ellie Jo will do. And you're welcome. Oh... wait... I almost forgot..."

The doctor marched the few paces to where her mount was tied and extracted from a saddle bag a small, squat glass jar with a cork stopper. Coming back, she handed it down to Jess.

"One of my students is a Shoshone native from these parts. She's specializing in naturopathic medicine as practiced by indigenes, with an emphasis on herbal remedies. She's been experimenting with analgesic compounds using local resources and asked if you would be so kind as to test this concoction on your ankle..."

Jess looked at her blankly. "Do what?"

"She believes this unguent has potential as a topical pain reliever. She'd like you to massage it onto your sprained ankle several times a day for the next three days and record the results... assuming you _can_..."

 _I wonder if he can even read and write? So many people out here lack even a basic education. That damnable war retarded advancement of civilization by decades!_

"I _know_ my letters, m'am," Jess responded with injured dignity.

 _Well, that's rude! Is she thinkin' I don't know how to read an' write?_

"I merely wished to affirm that you had paper and writing implements in your possession."

"I'm sure we do." _Somewhere._

"Splendid! Oh... I must warn you... the ointment smells rank—skunk oil. Be careful to keep it away from your face and wash your hands after application."

"I'll remember that."

The woman stepped back and raised an eyebrow. "Under normal circumstances I'm sure you wouldn't have any difficulty returning to your perch... however... if you could possibly condescend to accept assistance from a woman...?"

As much as Jess would've liked to declare himself fully capable of climbing back up on that rock on his own, he swallowed his pride. "I reckon I could use some help, m'am."

After seeing him safely reinstalled on his rock, Ellie Jo turned and walked to her horse, vaulting into the saddle with practiced ease. "See you in three days, Mr. Harper... or sooner if you keep up the way you're going..."

"It's Jess..." he called after her plaintively. "Just call me Jess..."

But she was already out of range.


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20:_ **LOVE IN THE AFTERNOON**

Andy Sherman was on a mission that had nothing to do with firewood. His intention was to rescue Jess' birthday present if it hadn't already been washed downstream. Relatively sure it was still down there in the tangle of roots at the scene of the accident, he'd brought extra rope. Working lickety split he'd gathered as much deadfall as he figured Abner would tolerate carrying and had it piled up, ready to load as soon as he got back with the fishing pole. Even then, he'd left Jess unsupervised over two hours now and that made him nervous. It wasn't that he didn't _trust_ his pard to stay put... it was just that the way things had been going—one calamity after another...

And what with one worrisome thought after another galloping around in his head, he didn't hear the approaching rider until Abner lifted his big ears and brayed loudly. Andy looked up to see Lucy coming at him on a little paint mare that was stepping so daintily she hardly made as much noise as a rabbit.

Lucy was grinning as she pulled up and dismounted. "Hi there!"

"Hi yourself. What are you doing here? Is Katie with you?"

"Nope. Just me. Do you mind?"

"No. Of course not... but... you shouldn't be out here alone."

"I wasn't exactly alone. Miss Ellie and I rode over together. We spotted you in the distance just before she turned off at your camp to see Jess. She said for me to go on ahead... so here I am."

"Jess...?" Andy was puzzled. "I got the impression we were _persona non grata_."

"That was before yesterday evening... before Katie and I explained who you were and how we knew you."

"But why's she visiting Jess?"

Lucy's eyes were twinkling. "Oh... you know... just making a house call... _she says..._ but I wasn't born yesterday."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I believe our fearless leader is... shall we say?... _interested?_ "

"In... Jess? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. And _you're_ here because...?"

"Because _I'm_ interested," the girl said simply, transfixing him with those cornflower blue eyes. "And you _did_ say you'd like to see me again. What's with all the rope?"

Andy would have been speechless with embarrassment but for her query providing a convenient distraction. He launched into a description of the foray into the woods, and Jess' accident... and the fishing equipment he hoped to retrieve.

"Mind if I tag along? I'd like to help."

"Well... if you have the time and the professor doesn't mind..."

"I do and she won't. Here, give me one of those ropes."

Each bearing a coil, Lucy and Andy threaded their way down the path through the tunnel of greenery.

Desperately hoping his roiling emotions weren't shining through the cracks in his carefully crafted urbane prep school polish, Andy sought to put a logical interpretation on Lucy's enigmatic statement. Was he to understand that a sophisticated collegiate was seriously interested in _him..._ a sixteen year old green kid?

Andy had his credits, of course, and pretty much knew what they were. Past the gawky stage and having mercifully escaped the ravages of acne, he was favored with wholesome good looks even though it seemed he'd already achieved his maximum height potential. He cut a dashing figure in formal attire, danced with consummate grace and was in consistent demand as an escort at school and social functions. He was brighter than the average ranch kid, well-read and capable of intelligent discourse. Parents and teachers _approved_ of him...

On the debit side, he was _only sixteen years old_... and barely that! So far, his experiences with the fair sex had been extremely limited within tightly controlled circumstances. Excluding pecks on the cheek from his pseudo-cousins in the St. Louis house, he'd never even kissed a girl. What could a girl... a _woman_... like Lucy possibly find of interest in him? He was eager to find out... and at the same time scared to death.

On hands and knees the two peered over the edge of the ravine. Even with the sun directly overhead it was difficult to make out anything clearly—but Andy was positive he'd caught a twinkle of brass.

"I'm going down," he announced, getting up and looking around for the sturdiest tree on which to rig a rappelling rope.

"You'd probably do better in your bare feet than in boots," Lucy offered.

Andy agreed, tugging off his boots.

"Better strip down to your undergarments too, or your clothes'll get all wet..."

" _What?!"_ Andy sputtered. "I can't do that in front of you!"

"You don't have to be shy... it's not like I've never seen a man in his union suit before," Lucy said, adding matter-of-factly, "or out of one, come to mention it."

"I'm not taking off my clothes and that's final." Andy was grateful for the deep shade disguising his pink face.

"Well... it's no big deal... unless, of course, you're not _wearing_ any underwear..."

Turning away his now flaming face, Andy grasped the rope and swung out over the edge, hearing Lucy's laughter above him as he lowered himself down.

Exercising great care he negotiated the slime-encrusted rocks that had been Jess' downfall, staggering against an unexpectedly strong, icy current. It took a few minutes to cut away the roots trapping the fishing rod. Uncoupling the segments, he stuck them inside his shirt in order to leave both hands free for reclimbing the rope. Getting back up wasn't as easy with his drenched clothing weighing him down. But for Lucy reaching down and helping to drag him by the wrists over the rim, he might not have made it. As it was he lay sprawled on his back on the path for several minutes, trembling from the exertion.

"I'm good... I'm good..." he gasped as Lucy knelt next to him and reassuringly squeezed one hand.

"We need to get you back to camp and into some dry clothing before you catch the ague..."

Andy lumbered to his feet. "This is getting tiresome..."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Come on. I've still got a heap of firewood to load up and I don't want to leave Jess alone too long. He tends to get into trouble when left unattended."

"I wouldn't worry too much if Miss Ellie's with him."

Andy shot Lucy a glance as they hurried up the path to the waiting mare and mule.

"That's _exactly_ the kind of trouble I'm worried about."

As Andy hadn't expected his excursion to take him very far from camp he hadn't bothered to saddle a horse. He hadn't expected company, either, so was quite pleased that Lucy not only pitched in to help load but was giving every indication of planning to walk back with him. He was about to load one last length of firewood when Abner snaked his head around and gave him the evil eye. Along with the loppy ears laid flat back and long upper lip twitching to expose big yellow teeth, it was clear indication of pack tolerance having been reached. Andy dropped the piece of wood and finished lashing the existing load.

Once underway Andy and Lucy easily embarked on animated conversation, catching up on life events since they'd first met two years ago. They had much to discuss...

An extraordinary confluence of events had brought to the Sherman ranch a group of Catholic nuns—Sisters of the Divine Illumination—in transit to their new community in Laramie. Seventeen-year-old Lucy had been one of them, a postulant, who later left the order before her probationary period was completed. Andy at fourteen was yet a schoolboy, gearing up for entrance examinations to Smith Academy. Andy'd been instantly enamored of Lucy even though he'd been sternly advised by Jonesy that one simply did _not_ make googly eyes at a nun, no matter how pretty. Even _thinking_ about a nun as a woman was blasphemous!

The sisters had stayed at the ranch for several days, helping out. At the time Andy'd been sick and under house confinement so had been forced to continue his admiration covertly. They'd moved on and established their residence on the north side of town and six months later Andy was shipped off to St. Louis without so much of having caught a glimpse of his paramour. And now here she was, walking right beside him. Just the two of them. Alone.

He wondered what society dictated about behavior with a _former_ nun? Was it allowable to express admiration? Was it permissible to demonstrate affection? If, for instance, he were to reach over and take her hand, would a lightning bolt strike them both?

Seeming to sense Andy's hesitancy, Lucy made her status clear.

"I never got around to actually taking the veil. Turned out the vocation I _thought_ I had wasn't the church. Reverend Mother saw that long before I did."

Andy was relieved. "I'm glad. I mean, I'm sorry it didn't work out for you, if that's what you wanted... but I'm sure happy you're here... with me."

"You were so sweet and earnest then...all elbows and knobby knees and covered in measles bumps," Lucy was recollecting.

"And now?" Andy fished shamelessly. "Have I improved some?"

Lucy stopped in her tracks and gave him a measured look. "You've sure metamorphosed into one good-looking man. I might have to beat up a couple of the other girls to keep you to myself."

Andy halted so quickly that Abner knocked into him from behind, forcing him to hop a few steps to keep his balance.

"I... uh... well... thank you. You look real nice yourself... not that you didn't back then... for a nun, I mean. Not that I was looking... Jonesy said it was sacrilegious to think about holy ladies... people... that way... oh gosh... I'm making a mess of this..."

Lucy smiled and put a finger to his lips to shush him. "I understand what you're saying. It's quite all right for you to feel or say what's in your heart, Andy. How long are you guys staying?"

"We planned on two weeks, but I might be able to talk Jess into a couple of extra days."

"Wouldn't hurt to try. We'll be leaving, too, week after next."

"Going back to school?"

"Not right away. From here... rather, from Medicine Bow... we're taking the train to San Francisco. Miss Ellie's arranged for us to spend some time in Chinatown, studying Oriental herbology and surgical techniques. We'll be heading back to Philadelphia at the beginning of August. That'll give us four weeks before classes resume to write up our field notes and catalog our samples."

"So you're really serious about becoming doctors?"

"You bet your chauvinistic boots we are!"

"Whoa! Didn't mean to ruffle your tail feathers..."

"You men are going to have to get used to the idea of females in the professional workforce. It's high time we women got recognition and respect for what we've been doing since time immemorial... keeping hearth and home together while men are off killing each other over their noble ideals. Keeping businesses afloat and doctoring the sick and educating the young because their men are too busy fighting."

"Calm down... please! I wasn't denigrating your ambition... but I _do_ have an opinion..."

"I'm going to be a doctor, Andy...out here in the territories. My goal is to establish clinics in outlying communities that aren't solvent enough to support a full-time practitioner, then get together a couple of doctors willing to alternate making rounds..."

"Like a circuit preacher, you mean," Andy interrupted. "Do you really think that'll work?"

"Absolutely. And credit for the idea goes to Reverend Mother Moira, not me. After the Order got settled in Laramie—with assistance from your people—one of the first problems we addressed was the aftermath of the measles epidemic. Reverend Mother was struck by how the four doctors in town combined their practices under one roof for the duration and arranged their schedules so that one was always in the office, one was free to circulate in town and two were making the out-of-town rounds. Every day they rotated. Afterwards they returned to being competitors, so to speak, but the precedent was set."

"Why not just build a hospital to begin with, and hire people to staff it?" was Andy's ingenuous question.

Lucy shrugged. "Several reasons why that won't happen. One: the town's tax base isn't broad enough to support one. Two: there's a sociological issue. Folks out here aren't ready for it. They prefer a personal relationship with their physician. They want a man they know and trust tweaking their pink parts. Know what I mean? It's going to be difficult enough to get them to accept women doctors."

"Pardon me for saying this, Lucy, but I can't see lady doctors ever becoming all that popular around here. With other women, maybe... but not with men. I mean, I sure wouldn't want a woman doctor looking at my... at me. No offense meant."

"None taken. Keep in mind that someday something might happen to change yours. Something involving yourself... or someone near and dear to you."

Even though they'd veered off a topic of greater personal interest to Andy—that of a possible future romantic encounter—he could appreciate that Lucy's career aspirations had merit.

"Has your friend Jess always been so accident-prone? As I recall, two years ago he was in a wheelchair with a broken leg... and now this ankle thing?"

"Not so much accidents as the results of violent actions by bad people with evil intentions."

"I heard a lot of not-so-nice things about him while I was still living in Laramie. For instance, that he was a mercenary... a gun for hire. Are not gunfighters bad people by definition?"

"That's subjective, Lucy. And it wasn't always for money. Jess operates by a moral code not always obvious to people not involved in a given conflict."

"He's accepted bounty money... that's a typically sordid business."

"And he's given a lot of it away when the criminal he killed or put away left a victim in financial distress!"

"So now you're arguing semantics and philanthropy? Is that what you're learning at school?"

"Among other things." Andy grinned. "It's a pretty progressive school. Besides, he's mostly given up the gunslinger business."

"Mostly?"

"It's a difficult reputation to shake. Unavoidable situations arise from time to time."

"He's not in one of those 'situations' now, is he?"

"No. He's just having a run of incredibly bad luck, is all. And how would you know about his accidents? You haven't even seen him yet!"

"Ellie was talking about him this morning at breakfast. She's a brilliant diagnostician, you know. She notices things other doctors don't and can differentiate between an old injury and a new one."

"She saw him with his shirt and boots off for maybe ten minutes... what could she have seen?" Andy scoffed.

Lucy held up the fingers of one hand in order to tick off points and then had to shift to the other one. "Last but not least, a severely sprained ankle. Shall I go on?"

"No. You've pretty well covered it." Andy was silent for a few moments, then shook his head. "He's been knocked unconscious so many times it's a miracle his brains still work. Slim's always saying he damned sure doesn't have any common sense left. Our family doctor says Jess needs to take better care of himself or he won't make old bones. Seems like he's intent on using up an entire year's allotment of bad luck during this fishing trip."

"Look at it this way, then... perhaps there won't be any more accidents."

"Wouldn't bet the farm on it," Andy said gloomily.

"You really care about him, don't you?"

"As if he were my own brother. Slim feels the same way. Someone has to, Lucy... he hasn't got anyone else."

"He's still a young man, presumably with a long life ahead of him... how old is he, anyway?"

"Twenty-seven next month."

Lucy's hand had somehow slipped into Andy's when he wasn't looking. "Are you _sure_ you're only sixteen?"

"Reasonably sure. Why do you ask?"

"You seem so much older."

"Some days I _feel_ a lot older."

"How about today?"

Andy stopped and turned to look in her eyes, speaking softly and with a whole lot more conviction than he could ever have hoped to master.

"Today I feel like a green kid who wishes he _were_ a lot older so he'd know how to act and the right things to say to a beautiful woman."

 _Oh God! Did THAT mush just come outta my mouth?_

Lucy hesitated only a moment before leaning toward him and embracing him, following with a languid, exploratory kiss that literally left him breathless.

"The Romans had a saying..." she breathed in his ear. " _Carpe diem..._ It means 'seize the day'."

"I know what it means, Lucy..." Andy rolled his eyes. "It's the first phrase we learned in Latin class."

Almost an hour later, restored to a semblance of sartorial decency, Andy and Lucy resumed their trek in companionable silence. Still stunned, he was reluctant to dispel the aura of wonderment that clung to him like—as Jonesy would've put it—baby poop to a new blanket. It had been nothing like he'd anticipated. It had been everything he'd dreamed of. He was supremely grateful to Lucy for not making him feel like the clumsy, inexperienced oaf he knew he had to've been. He was already scheming how they could meet again... and lamenting the short time they had left.

As they topped a small rise a mounted figure appeared in the distance, moving in their direction and swiftly resolving itself into Professor Wainwright. Drawing up and halting in their path, Ellie Jo crossed her forearms on the horn and regarded the pair with an unfathomable expression.

"I see you two've been quite industrious... you've enough fuel there to roast a buffalo."

Andy whipped off his hat, his heart thumping like a grouse drumming its wings on a fallen log. How could she not hear it? He felt like that woman in the Nathaniel Hawthorne story—but with a big red 'F' for fornicator emblazoned on his forehead instead of an 'A' on his chest. Crawling with mortification, he risked a sideways glance at his partner in delinquency, thinking to follow her lead. Miss Lucinda Benton was smiling, utterly unperturbed despite the shreds of grass clinging to her clothing and hair that looked like a cat'd been sucking on it. Andy realized he wasn't any better off in his still-damp trousers.

"Well, we've got solstice coming up in less than two weeks," Lucy replied, "and we'll need a nice big bonfire for that..."

"Indeed."

" _Solstice?"_ Andy squeaked.

The doctor smiled benignly from her elevated position. "The summer solstice is when we pagans dance naked around a bonfire at midnight and offer up sacrifices. We're a bit short of goats and babies this year so we'll have to make do. You're welcome to join us."

Lucy cracked at Andy's horrified face. "Oh Ellie... quit teasing. He'll think you're serious and he's had enough excitement for one day."

"Oh? Do tell..."

Andy's innards contracted in panic. _Surely she's not going to blab!_

"When Mr. Harper sprained his ankle, he lost his fishing tackle in a raging torrent at the bottom of a dangerous ravine. Apparently it has great sentimental value. Mr. Sherman recovered it at considerable personal risk. I did what little I could to assist."

"Very commendable... on both your parts. So the outcome was satisfactory?"

"Absolutely. Beyond expectation, I would venture to say."

Though acutely aware of a subtext being communicated here, Andy was grateful that—for the moment, anyway—a pretense of innocence was being maintained.

"Lucy, we probably ought to be getting back to our own camp now," Doc Ellie said.

Lucy brought her mare forward and was swinging into the saddle when she noticed the fresh blood smears on the doctor's shirt front.

"By the way, how was Mr. Harper?"

"Civil. Other than a few minor mishaps he was in as good shape as could be expected. I expect he went back to fishing and forgot I'd even been there."

"Excuse me... but _what_ mishaps?" Andy asked.

"I had to extract a fish hook and mend a cut and help him get back up on his rock... nothing you need worry about or that will interfere with your use of the pool this evening. I'll make sure it's clear for you between six and eight, as we agreed."

"Yes, m'am. Thank you, m'am. We'll be there."

The women wheeled their mounts and trotted away. Andy watched them go, his mind a seething mass of conflicting emotions.

 _I should go check on Jess..._ If he had to be honest with himself, worry over Jess' physical condition was playing second fiddle to that day's other, frankly more momentous, event. Today marked a rite of passage into the ranks of _men_.

 _Were we wrong to have done this?_ Now _there_ was a convoluted issue! Years ago when they'd had that 'facts of life' discussion, Jess had opined that natural design and instinct was as it was for a divine purpose, so how could taking advantage of it be wrong? He'd kind of skirted around the social prohibitions, however. The respectable citizens of Laramie didn't approve of the presence of bawdyhouses, but tolerated them as necessary evils to keep raucous unattached men in check. Wives simply professed ignorance that their husbands were as well frequenting those establishments. It was very confusing.

Slim, on the other hand, was all about propriety and the need to uphold and abide by community standards. Intimate relations unsanctified by marriage vows were wrong. Period. A perfect example of Slim's 'do as I say, not as I do' double-standard mentality, believing Andy was ignorant of the mistress with whom Slim used to spend weekends in Cheyenne or the occasional indulgence at one of Laramie's bordellos. Aunt Emma had dumped those cats out of the bag shortly after she and Jonesy and Andy had settled in St. Louis, with the qualification that there was absolutely nothing wrong with sex itself—it was all in how you went about it.

 _I should feel guilty..._ It had been so easy. So natural. So... enjoyable. Aside from a twinge of self-consciousness he hadn't been as scared as he'd long feared he might be when the time came. Had in fact given no thought whatsoever to the fact that it was his _first_ time. Not hers, obviously, and for that he was grateful... reasoning that _that_ absolved him of guilt. Nor did he feel any shame.

 _But wait..._ if Slim had been here instead of Jess, this wouldn't have happened. If Jess hadn't been incapacitated, this wouldn't have happened. So Andy's good fortune devolved from Sheriff Corey's father passing away and Councilman Forbes' dropping dead and his best friend's having inexplicably developed a death wish. Surely he should be experiencing a modicum of guilt about those factors... but he wasn't. Instead, he was wishing he could share his happiness with life in general. Which he couldn't, because gentlemen didn't do that sort of thing.

 _Really... the only person I can talk to about what happened... the only one who'll understand and not condemn me... us... is Jess._

Jamming his hat back on, Andy took up Abner's lead and strode off toward camp. With Miss Ellie's assurance that Jess wasn't in need of immediate attention, he figured he had plenty of time to unload and stack the firewood, tend to the animals and get a fire going for supper.


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21:_ **TO BEE OR NOT TO BEE**

In the meantime... Finally managing to relegate Ellie Jo and her luscious attributes to the back of his mind, Jess'd returned to the job at hand... catching fish. Despite the clumsiness of working around the newest injuries, he could still bait hooks and throw out a line a respectable distance. The fish were biting pretty good... especially when he ran out of minnows and switched to worms. With six pan-size bream on a stringer—enough for dinner—he began releasing his catches back into the lake.

 _It's turnin' into a really nice day... except where's Andy? Wonder what's takin' him so long? Wish the kid would hurry up an' get on back so we could enjoy it together. After all, that's what we come here for in the first place!_

It's a well-recorded caprice of nature that the most innocuous of otherwise mundane conditions can coincide to irrevocably alter the course of one man's day... in this case, a clump of buttery yellow mahonia blooming from a crevice in Jess Harper's rock throne and a sluggish black-and-yellow queen bumblebee that had been caught out overnight.

In order to fly, a bumblebee's internal temperature must achieve a certain level, and this one's hadn't got there yet as the cluster of flowers under which she'd been sheltering had been shaded. In the past hour, however, the sun had crept around so that the rock, the flowers and the insect had simultaneously warmed up.

Gingerly adjusting his position on his rock, Jess was unaware of the flowers brushing his bandaged left hand. He didn't notice the bee making her way up his shirt sleeve. When he finally did feel the tickle at his neck, he inclined his head to rub his ear against his shoulder instead of reaching up to brush off whatever it was. Big mistake...

Bumblebees have no barbs on their stingers. Unlike honeybees, they can sting more than once without injury to themselves—and this one did... twice before Jess' flailing hands finally mashed the luckless creature into oblivion where she'd fallen inside his open collar.

The first jab—on the earlobe—certainly got his attention. The second one—on the neck—accelerated his agitation to a high state of panic. Wildly gyrating in an attempt to rid himself of his attacker, Jess overbalanced... _again_ tumbling right off that rock. Consciousness fled as skull met stone on the way down and the foot with the unforgiving ankle was the first part of his anatomy to contact the unyielding ground.

Senses returned in increments... Hearing arrived first—soft noises like the lapping of wavelets against the pebbly shore, the rustle of grasses around him, the soughing of a gentle breeze through the stunted pine, the _cree_ of a hawk in the distance. Scents began to sort themselves out—fishy water and the sharp bite of nearby dwarf sagebrush. A sour taste in the back of Jess' throat suggested a reunion with breakfast might be forthcoming in the not too distant future. Bright light was boring down through his closed eyelids. His head hurt. Actually, he pretty much was hurting all over. A lot.

 _This can't be happening again..._

Slitting open his eyes to the noonday sun, he pushed himself up to a seated position with his back against the rock on which he'd lately been sitting. The throbbing in his head seemed to radiate from the left side of his skull above the ear. A tentative probe confirmed the presence of a tender knot.

 _Ooooooooh! No blood, so it ain't all that bad... been whacked on the noggin lotsa times an' made out okay. I'll be fine. Can't let Andy know about this... it'll be the last straw an' Slim'll be six kinds a pissed off at me for ruinin' Andy's vacation... maybe I should try an' stand up..._

That turned out to be an idea whose time hadn't yet come, which Jess discovered the moment he attempted to lever himself upwards with both legs. The damaged ankle shot a lightning bolt of pain right up his leg. He gasped as a wave of dizziness swept over him and his butt thumped right back down on the ground.

 _Wouldn't you know it? Done in by a dadgum bumblebee! Maybe if I just sit here real quiet an' catch my breath I can fool Andy into thinkin' I slid down here on purpose to have a snooze..._

Even _thinking_ hurt...but at least it gave him something to do to pass the time. He began cataloging the injuries he'd accrued so far in connection with this fishcamp fiasco, ticking them off on his fingers as he went along...

"First I get clipped on the ear with a currycomb, then Jake stomps on my foot, then Abner kicks me in the knee... Got poked in the belly with Miz Birdwell's parasol an' clocked in the face with her reticule... an' all that's even afore we got outta town. Next I get a splinter in my thumb an' a dead bird falls on my privates. Then I get spiked in the arm by a baby antelope an' blistered with hot stew. An' that damned dog latches onto my shin. Today I stab one hand an' jam a fish hook in the other afore knockin' myself out on account of a bumblebee. Have I missed somethin'? Oh yeah... the worst one—crackin' my head an' twistin' my ankle so I can't walk!"

Jess realized with horror that he'd just articulated this laundry list of woes _out loud_... for anybody to hear. While it was generally acceptable for a man to talk to his horse, only a crazy man talked to himself. And he was very much by himself.

The absurdity of it all came together with a resounding thud. A chuckle escaped... and another. Soon he was snickering... and then laughing. Even worse than talking to yourself is laughing to yourself when there's no one to hear it.

 _Why the hell am I laughin'? This ain't funny. What've I done to deserve this much misery? But wait... I thought I was a goner a couple days ago an' I ain't dead yet. How can so many stupid accidents happen to one man all at the same time? Is it payback for all the bad things I done in my life?_

Jess screwed his eyes shut in order to give that unpalatable notion a proper think without visual distraction. Was it possible for a fella to have his own private come-to-Jesus meeting with his conscience? _I'm ready for this headache to get gone..._

Jess had been literally at death's door on more than one occasion. As a soldier and a gunfighter, he'd accepted the inevitability of an early demise. He'd never been particularly afraid of death itself... more of what came before... or after. There were worse things than dying. The best he could claim about his religious convictions was that he'd never entirely shaken off the beliefs inculcated in early childhood. The State of Texas and the Southern Baptist Convention first saw the light of day in 1845, when Jess was one year old. Protestantism was struggling to gain a toehold in predominantly Catholic Texas, thus church houses were few and far between the plethora of Franciscan missions.

The Harper youngsters' initial exposure to scripture came in the form of circuit-riding hellfire-and-damnation preachers and the collective fervor of evangelical tent revivals. Jess and his faith very nearly parted ways during the war and in later years whenever circumstances landed him in dire straits, but it never completely deserted him. Even though he wasn't a regular churchgoer he did consider himself a Christian and a believer—if somewhat fuzzy about exactly what it was he _did_ believe in.

In military prison camp and later in hospital, Jess'd been convinced he'd fetched up in the Baptist version of Hell's earthly waiting room. After all, his daddy had always predicted he was going straight to Hell anyway. Maybe he was already on his way to the fiery depths—not all at once due to a single mortal wound, but one degree at a time. Sure felt like it.

On the other hand—taking in his pleasant surroundings on this beautiful summer's day—he considered that he might've accidentally wandered into the Purgatory of the Catholics which, as he understood it, afforded a crack at redemption and admission through the Pearly Gates if enough people prayed you along. Except you had to be already dead, which he wasn't. Besides, his momma would've derided that as a mealymouthed approach to Death—you either went _up_... or _down_. There weren't no inbetween.

One thing Jess Harper did admire about those mackerelsnappers was being able to wipe your slate clean with that convenient confession clause. He wasn't quite sure how that worked but could see how it'd come in handy... say, right after you'd robbed a bank or shot someone. He suspected, however, that it might only be effective if no one else knew about the bad thing you'd done other than the priest you were telling about it. And only if you were Catholic, which he wasn't.

 _Damn, my head hurts! If only this headache would ease up!_

Was the bright light attempting to penetrate his eyelids being shed by St. Peter's lantern guiding his way up the Eternal Tunnel? Now there was a cheerful thought. But the voice that interrupted Jess' ruminations wasn't that of some benevolent, bewhiskered old saint in a white robe. It was Andy's.


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter 22:_ **IF YOU COULD HEAR WHAT I'M THINKING**

"Hey Jess... I'm back!"

As Andy ambled up, Jess hastily rearranged his features with the intent of projecting an air of nonchalance. _I'm fine. We're fine. Nothing happening here for you to worry about._ Well-versed in the art of tactical diversion, Jess launched his grenade with a growl.

"About danged time, too... it's way past lunchtime an' my stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

Andy's own amiable expression flickered momentarily until he understood from Jess' subsequent grin that his leg was being yanked a smidgen.

"Sorry... took a little longer than I thought," Andy said, hunkering down. "What're you doing down here?"

"Catchin' me a nap."

"Uhuh." _He thinks I'm buying that malarkey? Doc Ellie said she left him_ on _the rock, not_ next _to it... and she surely wouldn't have traipsed off leaving him practically helpless—with everything he needs out of reach. And if he'd taken a sudden notion to catch a few winks, he certainly wouldn't have parked himself in the sun... without his hat... or his pistol. He's on the ground for a reason... hiding something..._

"What're we havin' for lunch?" Jess asked.

"Depends on whether or not you got us any fish..."

"Stringer's right over there." Jess nodded in the direction of a small bush clinging to the edge of the bank.

"Everything okay, then?" _Before I admit to anything, let's see if_ he _admits to anything..._

"Fine as frog hair. Help me up..." _Ain't no call to bring up that doctor bein' here unless he notices the bandage on my hand an' says somethin' about it..._

Purposefully overlooking the bandage but mindful of what he'd been told by the doctor, Andy tried to avoid further injury to Jess' hands by gripping him at the wrists and pulling him upwards by brute force. There was no avoiding putting some weight on the bad ankle... and no disguising the wince or hissed intake of breath at the pain that action caused.

"This morning you claimed your ankle was much better," Andy accused. "What've you done?"

"That was this mornin'... and nothin'..." Jess grunted, bracing himself against the boulder while Andy reached over to get his hat and the blackthorn stick.

 _This isn't the end of it... not by a long shot._

"Here. Put your arm around my neck and use me like a crutch. Try to keep that foot off the ground..."

"Quit fussin', willya? I ain't a complete cripple..."

 _Hate to be the one to break the news, but for all intents and purposes, you_ are _... and will remain that way unless you give that ankle a chance to heal._

"Why couldn't you stay where I left you?"

"Because I..." _Think fast, son... you need a good excuse!_

"Because nothing... I made sure you had everything you needed so you wouldn't have to stand up!"

"I hadda take a leak!"

"That's a piss-poor excuse, Jess... no pun intended..." Andy fumed.

"Oh yeah? Well... uh...what's a pun?"

The quibbling went downhill from there... a stubborn man pitting his pride against a stubborn youngster who'd only that day crossed the threshhold that equalized them—in Andy's mind if not in actuality.

The laborious trek back to the campsite sapped Jess' last reserves. He accepted without further complaint Andy's careful assistance in easing him down on improvised lawn furniture. Though disgruntled with his companion at the moment, Andy'd never willingly do anything to add to his woes. The last thing he'd done before going to fetch Jess was cut enough fir boughs to make a seat on the ground and a backrest against the big rocks nearest the fire pit, which he'd then cushioned with blankets. Come nightfall, when they were ready to hit their bedrolls, he'd worry about getting Jess into the rock shelter.

 _It's going to be a long afternoon... and Jess isn't looking so good. He says he's fine but it's not like him to back down without a fight. Best change the subject and pretend we weren't just having an argument. Might be a good time to tell him about... or not. Later might be better... when he's in a more receptive mood._

Furnished with an enameled tin cup of fresh hot coffee and a leftover biscuit to tide him over, Jess' eyes tracked Andy as he set about gutting and scaling the bream. The kid didn't seem to notice that he was having to carry most of what little conversation they were exchanging as potatoes and onions sizzled in the frying pan.

 _Gotta stop thinkin' a him as 'the kid'. At his age I thought myself a growed man, body an' mind, an' already had three notches on my gun. Good Lord willin', Andy Sherman won't never hafta put any notches on his. He's about got his full growth now an' he's a lot smarter than I'll ever be. Maybe even smarter than Slim. He'll be a better man, too, than the both of us. Not that Slim ain't a good man... best I ever knowed, that's for sure..._

Jess realized he was rambling... never a good sign for someone whose continued existence was contingent on his ability to concentrate. Trying to keep himself pulled together and maintaining the appearance of normalcy was taking about as much concentration as he could muster. On top of that, he was unaccountably sleepy. _Sunuvabitchin' headache!_

Next thing Jess knew, Andy was prodding him awake with the cheery announcement that lunch was finally being served, sorry for the delay.

Potatoes, onions, hush puppies and fish...all fried in bacon grease. Jess looked down at the plate that'd just been presented and gulped, knowing beyond a shadow of doubt that by adding its contents to his as yet undigested beans-and-bacon breakfast he'd be precipitating a massive gastric disturbance. But he couldn't very well _not_ eat it, as barely an hour earlier he'd intimated he was starving as a result of Andy's tardiness in returning from his wood-gathering expedition. The chef was now looking at him expectantly.

"Oh... thanks," Jess said weakly, "This looks... _great!_ "

Forking up a segment of fish and popping it in his mouth, Jess made appropriate noises of appreciation. Andy beamed and wheeled away to load his own plate. Jess looked around desperately for a place where he could scrape off the plate and hide the food... but there wasn't one. No alternative but to shovel it in and hope it didn't come back for a curtain call.

By the time Jess masticated his way down to bare tin, nausea was vying for supremacy above all the other assorted ills and aches. Even with the brim of his hat pulled down low to shade his face, the afternoon sun was casting shards of light to the backs of his eyeballs where the headache was merrily pounding away unabated.

 _Don't move. Don't talk. Don't burp or even poot an' maybe... just maybe... I won't heave my guts into next week. Easier said than done. Here's Andy in my face again. No thanks, don't want no seconds. Water'd be good._

He must have spoken the last aloud as here was Andy with a canteen of cool, clear water.

"You look like you could use another nap."

"I believe you're right," Jess agreed quickly. "Sorry I ain't better company today, Andy."

"No problem... I've got things to do anyway, like collect all your gear and go check on the horses. They've been hobbled too long and need exercise."

"Don't go too far..." While on the surface this might've sounded like an adult's thoughtless automatic directive to a child about to go outside to play, there was more to it than that. In truth, he was vaguely anxious about being left unattended although he'd sooner eat dirt and worms than admit to it.

"I won't. I promise." Andy stood up and back, brown eyes clouded with concern for his friend.

In the year between the drifter's arrival on the ranch and Andy's leaving for St. Louis, they'd grown as close as brothers and still were. Closer, as Andy saw it but would never have said so. Slim was more of a father figure, an authoritative presence, than a sibling. Jess had never, in Andy's hearing, verbally conveyed a desire for someone to be _with_ him whenever he was under the weather, although he'd never hung back from expressing his gratitude when someone did. So, even though he was old enough to know better, Andy still retained shreds of childish admiration for Jess Harper, the unsinkable hero. The little boy occupying a shadowed corner of his heart was terrified of losing his idol.

 _Don't be stupid. He's not in any danger. Look... he's asleep already with his hat pulled down over his face as usual. Like he says, he'll be fine. Just needs a good rest. He'll get over that ankle in a day or two and everything will be back to normal. Or as close to normal as he ever gets..._

With snores floating out from under Jess' hat, Andy felt satisfied it was safe to venture away from literal oversight. He made several trips to round up the panniers and fishing tackle and cleaned up the remains of lunch. What was left of the antelope had gone off so he buried it some distance from the camp rather than attract the attention of carrion seekers. Draping a length of rope and a short leadline over a shoulder, Andy stuck a handful of rock-hard sugar chunks in one pocket before striding off in the direction the tracks indicated.

After a few minutes he spotted the two horses and the pair of mules grazing in a bowl-shaped depression where a thick stand of grass surrounded a seasonal alpine tundra pond. Scout nickered to alert the others of Andy's approach, whether in greeting or merely to advise them it was time to scarper. Not that they could, of course, as they were hobbled. Andy was surprised they'd managed to wander that far, given they'd been much closer in two hours ago when he'd turned Abner out. In any case, the sugar treats got their immediate attention.

Andy first attached the lead to Ranger's halter, knowing that as long as the line was touching the ground the gelding wouldn't move from the spot. He then affixed the first loop of the rope around Ranger's neck and threaded the rest of it through the tie rings on the others' halters. When all four were strung together, he removed their hobbles and jumped up on Ranger's bare back. Rather than head straight back, Andy steered them on a circuitous route at a sedate pace. Both horses and mules seemed happy to stretch their legs and gave him no trouble.

Back at camp, Andy tethered the mules to a tree and dumped out a couple handfuls of oats onto a piece of canvas, then did a quick check on Jess, who hadn't stirred. Andy figured he had time to take the horses out for a short run.

Freeing Scout, Andy hopped back up on Ranger and took off with Scout loping unattached a length behind. Barn mates and old pals, the two tended to hang together and Scout wasn't about to be left behind. Along the way Andy marked an area of dense low-growing shrubbery that apparently was supporting a healthy population of snowshoe hares, judging by the numbers of startled critters darting across the horses' path. A vision of succulent rabbit stew manifested itself. Back in camp, with the animals once again hobbled nearby and his partner still sleeping, Andy crammed a handful of shells in a pocket and tucked the twelve-gauge under one arm. The bunny run was within easy walking distance.

Seeing where a number of rabbit trails converged, Andy camouflaged himself by the simple expedient of sitting perfectly still on a big rock, shotgun steadied on a smaller one and sighted on the most likely exit from the brush. Hares being crepuscular feeders, it was coming on the time of late afternoon for them to begin appearing. All he had to do was wait patiently and pick off his victims as they emerged. Two or three leverets would be just about right... no older males that might be tough and stringy or fluffy females that might either be pregnant or nursing. While he waited, Andy's mind took up its own narrative and his imagination loosed to wander...

There was a time in the not too distant past when Mary Sherman's baby boy allowed as he'd rather starve than deprive a furry or feathery creature of its life. Determined to disabuse Andy of this impractical and unmanly attitude toward the natural order of the food chain, Slim had many times forced his blubbering little brother to participate in the sacrificial rites preceding Sunday's chicken dinner, or coerced his observation of the slaughter of a hand-raised calf or piglet destined for the smokehouse. Each and every time it'd been a struggle... until Jess had intervened.

Taking Andy aside, Jess explained his own philosophy about killing animals for food: never take more than you need, be quick and merciful, avoid killing breeding females if at all possible and... most importantly... ask forgiveness from the spirit of the soon-to-be consumed—a belief he'd acquired from the Indians. Thereafter, while continuing to find the process distasteful, Andy at least accepted the realities and did his share of chopping and shooting for the table.

This and many other life lessons Andy had readily absorbed from Jess rather than Slim, which remained a sore point with the latter. Jess had succeeded in corralling Andy's erupting adolescent emotions where Slim had failed... _because_ —unwittingly—Jess _could_ present instruction from a more simplistic and sympathetic viewpoint than Slim was able to obtain.

Andy understood all this now although he hadn't at the time. He could even see the humor in the fact that the most volatile personality he'd ever known was the one who encouraged forebearance and self-control. It wasn't that Slim was a bad teacher... he'd just been following precedence as established by his own father: children did as they were told and did not question their elders. Jess, on the other hand, had always taken it as his right and privilege to question _everything,_ no matter the source, and had championed Andy's entitlement to the same despite his youth. Jess and Slim had had more than one set-to over this.

 _Someday they'll have kids of their own to boss around and fight over. 'Course, they have to get 'em some wives first and so far they're not doin' so good in that department. I plan on gettin' married myself someday... way, way, way in the future... and havin' kids and livin' to be an old man. That'd be fun... see how they'd like it with the moccasin on the other foot—_ me _tellin'_ them _how not to treat their young 'uns! Oh look... there's a rabbit..._

 _What if they don't get ever hitched, though? What if they just stay bachelors until they're cranky old codgers with nothin' better to do than swap tall tales and pester me with advice on child rearin'? But worse... what if they_ don't _live to be old men..._

Right there Andy had to blink several times to drive away the moisture threatening the corners of his eyes. What an awful thought! That his future sons and daughters might come into this world without their Uncle Slim and Uncle Jess... as it was they'd be short a pair of grandparents to start with and there'd be no Sherman cousins unless Slim got busy.

 _I guess Mike'll qualify as an uncle, if Slim legally adopts him and changes his name like he keeps talkin' about. Jonesy and Aunt Daisy probably won't be around for my anklebiters... they're already old as dirt. I guess before I worry too much about these unborn children I oughta think on what kind of wife I want..._

Andy was momentarily distracted by the appearance and subsequent dispatch of the next suitable hare... another small one. One more would suffice. Now that his ruminations had arrived at the subject of the hypothetical helpmeet, he realized he was somewhat confused as to how one went about the process of obtaining one. A phrase he'd learned in French class sprang to mind: _'cherchez la femme'_... look for the woman. He wasn't sure how that applied in this instance but he liked the way it sounded.

Though he and Jess had enjoyed many private discussions concerning women—selection, pursuit, care and maintenance of, etc.—not once had the topic of permanent liaisons ever been examined. Mainly because Jess'd always stoutly defended his bachelor status against all comers, no matter how comely. Jess truly loved women... _all_ women... in both the literal and figurative sense. He had his preferences as to what constituted attractive packaging, of course. What man didn't? But he wasn't looking to get hogtied anytime in the foreseeable future.

For one reason or another, Slim'd consistently evaded Andy's queries on the subject of womankind and relations therewith. Perhaps he found it too embarrassing... or maybe he figured he needn't bother as Jess had, early on, jumped the gun and provided Andy with as much knowledge as he needed at the time, and then some. Though not actively or publicly in the market for a mate, Slim nonetheless was constantly on the alert for matrimonial prospects that met his standards for the ideal candidate. There'd been damned few over the years. His problem was luck... or lack thereof. Time after time fate had stepped in to wrench the prize from his grasp.

 _Jess wouldn't know an analogy if he stepped in one... but that's how he categorizes women, comparing them to horses. According to him, you choose a horse in keeping with what you intend to do with it. For pleasure riding: dependable with an easy gait. For racing: lean, fast and fiery. For driving or stockworking: compact, short-coupled, strong and even-tempered. But if you're looking for a brood mare, you have to be a lot more picky. A brood mare is a long-term investment, not a short-term rental. You have to be real careful that that pretty little filly with the fetching fetlocks and shiny brown eyes is the right one for you..._

 _How does a girl like Lucy fit in here? I know what we did today isn't love... it's just biology. But we both had a good time... at least I think she did. I know_ I _did. With luck and opportunity we'll get to do it again. I know what most people think about girls who give themselves to men they're not married to but I just can't think of Lucy that way... as a bad girl. On the other hand she's nothing at all like cousins Hortense and Janine and the twins. I'd bet no one's explained the facts of life to_ them _yet!_

 _Now that maid Moira... there's a potential bad girl if ever there was one! From the day I arrived she's been salivating over me like a French pastry on a crystal plate. I haven't told anybody about this but a couple of months ago she made an indecent proposal to me and I pretended I didn't understand what she wanted. I was too scared. Hope she makes another one after I get back but she probably won't want me now that I'm soiled goods. Hey... that's a good one... I'll have to tell Jess, if he ever wakes up. That other maid, Cosette, looks at me like something that's just scurried out of a hole in the baseboards. I guess women have their preferences, too._

After Andy garnered the third contribution to his intended rabbit fricassée, he stood up to stretch his legs and break the shotgun. Retrieving his game, he took off at a trot toward camp. By the sun's position he reckoned he could get the carcasses gutted, skinned and hung in plenty of time to tend to Jess' needs, saddle up the horses and get them to the hot springs by their assigned time.


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter 23:_ **DIALOGUE IN THE DARK**

"Hey Jess... it's just me. Don't shoot!" Andy sang out cheerfully as he approached camp. Always best to give Jess warning that his space was about to be invaded. Especially when he wasn't feeling well.

At first glance all appeared to be in order and undisturbed. A second glance revealed it wasn't. Eyes open, Jess was hunched against the rock with his arms wrapped around his belly—positively green around the gills. Putting down the gun and the rabbits, Andy walked over and knelt down next to the sick man... prematurely, as it happened. A malodorous stench assailed his nostrils just as his knee registered what it was sinking into.

 _Shit! Yuck!_

An involuntary jerk backwards landed Andy on his rear.

"Sorry..." Jess mumbled miserably, turning his head aside just in time to let fly with another volley.

Andy scrambled up. "Not to worry. You couldn't help it," he squeezed out through lips tightly clenched to keep from retching himself.

 _Not the first time I've been on hand for a Jess puke-fest... but it'll be MY first time having to clean it up. Man up, Andrew... it won't kill you._

"I'll be right back..." Grabbing a bucket, Andy raced to the shoreline and filled it. Two bucketloads of water sufficed to sluice off the nasty from his pants leg and boot. Toting the refilled bucket back to Jess another horrifying thought presented itself: Jess had not made use of their primitive 'facility' since that morning. It was now late afternoon. If that situation were not rectified immediately, an even more loathsome chore might be lurking on the horizon.

"C'mon, Jess... get up."

"No... leave me be."

 _No? What does he mean, 'no'? He can't possibly NOT have to go. And why's he acting so out of it?_

"Can't do that... you have to get up."

"Don't wanna."

 _Something's not right here... and it's not just an upset stomach..._

"Jess. You. Are. Getting. Up. Now. We are going to the latrine."

"Don't hafta."

Andy squatted down once more, this time on the non-puddled side, and pulled his boldest face ever.

"Jess... you're having a really bad bellyache..." he intoned in his most sepulchral voice, "and you know what usually happens along with that, don't you?"

Jess nodded.

"If you don't get up and come with me now... and that happens... well, you're on your own..."

Andy paused to let the ramifications of that noxious possibility sink in.

"Help me up..."

With that business out of the way, Jess was more focused and less green. However, he was suspiciously agreeable about letting Andy wipe off his face and sponge some minor flecks of upchuck from his shirt sleeve. He sat quietly on his rock by the campfire, elbows on knees, hands cradling head, as Andy saddled the horses and brought them up.

"Still got that headache?"

"Yeah... it ain't lettin' up."

 _Not a good sign... he's slept all afternoon... should be over that by now._

"You want something to eat before we go? A biscuit with a slice of ham?"

"Please don't mention food..." Jess shuddered.

"Okay. Maybe later when we get back then. You ready to mount up?"

"Yeah... I'll need a hand, though."

"Sure thing..."

The path they were taking around the lake's western periphery was strewn with rocky outcroppings, not nearly as open as the one Jess had led them on the previous day. With Andy taking the lead, they proceeded cautiously in single file much of the way. By the time they were closing in on their objective Andy had a crick in his neck from craning his head around to be sure Jess was still solidly astride... albeit more lengths behind than Andy would have liked.

 _Well... he's hanging in there... sort of... with a death grip on the horn. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea... we just passed very close to the girls' camp... if that monster dog comes charging out..._

Andy should've noticed sooner that the usually tractable Ranger was becoming unaccountably restless—tossing his head and snorting.

"Hey!" Andy admonished the gelding with a light jerk on the reins to get his attention. Instead of calming down, Ranger got downright balky, huffing and fighting the bit.

"Damn you, horse... what's your problem?" Andy yelled when all forward momentum ceased. Feeling around for his quirt, he remembered having left it with Abner's pack saddle. Understanding gradually seeped through his annoyance... Ranger and Scout were more than stablemates—they were practically inseparable soulmates, prone to misbehavior when forced apart... Andy shot his head around to discover his entourage was short a horse and rider. Scout and Jess had vanished.

 _Dammitohell!_

Wheeling around his mount,Andy backtracked to an identifiable landmark at which he recalled having last seen his followers. He leaned sideways out of the saddle with his eyes glued to the ground, searching for the place where their tracks diverged... a problematic undertaking as the sun was now below the horizon and deep shadow obscured the trail. The increasingly fractious gelding was prancing in tight circles.

Andy dimly recalled Jess' once mentioning that horses were capable of scent tracking almost as well as dogs, although they'd never got around to testing out that theory.

 _Good a time as any to see if that's true..._

As soon as he perceived he'd been given slack rein, Ranger immediately took off at a right angle away from the lake. With his neck snaked out and head low to the ground, he seemed confident of his direction. Occasionally he'd pause, ears pricked forward and nose in the air, nostrils flaring. If he'd been capable of baying like a coonhound he probably would have.

Minutes flew by as Andy's apprehension escalated—soon they'd lose the light altogether. Suddenly Ranger unleashed a joyous neigh and was rewarded with an answering whinny from a brushy thicket ahead. Andy nearly lost the reins and his seat as a bullet zinged by his left ear. It would've caught him if his mount hadn't lunged forward at that instant.

"That's far enough, mister!" a disembodied voice shouted in that fulsome baritone Andy would've known anywhere.

 _What the...?_

A second shot ricocheted off a boulder to his right. Reckoning the odds of bringing fifteen hundred pounds of determined horse to a dead stop were not in his favor, Andy hurled himself from the saddle and dove under the nearest bush, rolling up like a hedgehog. An equally riderless Scout came surging out of concealment to greet his buddy—the two waltzed in place, nuzzling each other like old lovers.

 _Okay... now I'm officially scared... good thing neither of those horses is gunshy... otherwise they'd be long gone and we'd be up the creek..._

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! It's me... Andy..."

Seconds ticked by...

"Show yourself... an' keep those hands where I can see 'em!"

 _He's well and truly lost it. How could I not have seen how sick he was back in camp?_

"Jess... hold your fire! It's just me, Andy Sherman—your friend Andy... I'm unarmed."

A third shot rang out, clipping the leaves over Andy's head—he'd been under the mistaken belief that if he couldn't see Jess in the dusk, Jess couldn't see him either. At least this time he was able to mark the muzzle flash and had a general idea where Jess was lurking.

 _Why didn't I hide his gunbelt... or try to talk him out of bringing the gun? Because, you moron, you know he'd never agree. Oh great. Now I'm arguing with myself and calling myself names!_

"You're lyin'. Andy's in St. Louis. Whoever you are, step out in the open. Don't make me come after you..."

 _Wait a minute... he's afoot now, and disabled... so coming after me's an empty threat. What are my options? Sit tight and hope this mental aberration passes? Try to talk him down? Try to sneak up on him and get the gun away from him? Right... when hell freezes over. It appears friendly persuasion's my best bet..._

"Jess?"

A long, long interval...

"What?"

"Do you remember the very first day you came to the ranch... how you met Slim at the lake, then me and Jonesy at the house? Then Bud Carlin and his gang came...?"

Jess' reply was halting. "That don't prove nothin'. Everybody knows what happened that day."

 _Okay... so I need to give him something that only he and I—or no one outside the family—would know about..._

"You drew down on me and I dropped your apple pie on the floor..."

 _The lack of denial's encouraging... give him another one..._

"You and Slim got into a ruckus because you were teaching me how to deal off the bottom of the deck..."

 _Definitely something we kept to ourselves..._

"You two got into another fight later over you telling me about the birds and the bees... he broke your nose..."

 _Sweet Baby Jesus, let the light shine in... we can't stay out here all night pussyfooting around in the bushes..._

"Andy...?"

 _Definitely a plaintive note now... I got through to him. Hallelujah!_

"Yeah, Jess... can I come out now?

"I need help..."

 _No kidding!_

Pinpointing Jess' exact location and extricating him from the tangle of bushes and vines took some doing. Andy sought to distract his friend with a running commentary, finally managing to finagle the weapon from his grasp and jamming it into his own waistband at the small of his back. Jess remained silent until they reached the horses and Andy once again was faced with the job of boosting his partner into the saddle.

"Quiet... they'll hear you!" Jess suddenly commanded in a stage whisper. Though his expression wasn't readable in the dimness, his body language betrayed extreme agitation. Clearly his mental gears had again slipped a cog...

"Who'll hear us?" Andy asked patiently. "There's nobody here _but_ us."

"Yanks. Keep your voice down!"

 _Yanks? As in yankee soldiers? What could be causing these hallucinations? Too much sun? Fever of some sort? Couldn't have been anything we ate... we've had the same stuff today and I'm not whacked out of my mind. Something's bad wrong and I don't have a clue. Do NOT panic! Best play along and humor him..._

Andy had to stifle a snort of amusement... he was about to step into a role much like the ones he'd been performing back in St. Louis, where he'd been inveigled by the girl 'cousins' into amateur community theatre.

"I don't think the soldiers know where we are, Sergeant Harper. Where'd you see 'em?"

"Back aways. Seen their tents... over by the lake... gotta get back to camp... warn the captain..."

 _Of course... the girls' camp and those Union officers' tents... he's regressed ten years..._

"Sir, with all due respect, it's too dangerous to turn back. There's a place up ahead where we can hole up for the night. They'll never think to look for us there..."

"Sounds like a good idea, private... lead on." Jess hadn't yet noticed the line now tethering Scout to Ranger—Andy wasn't about to risk letting his charge get away again.

Jess mostly stayed silent, other than to dispense the occasional query which Andy parried as best his could with his limited knowledge of military operations.

"Why're we out of uniform, private?"

"We're incognito... um... undercover reconnaissance, sir."

"Where's the rest of our squad?"

"Dispersed, sir... when we were ambushed. We'll catch up with them later."

"Where's our weapons?"

 _The gun's hidden under my jacket and you're sure as shootin' not getting it back!_

"I believe we lost them in the fracas, sir."

"Oh."

Jess didn't speak again until they topped the slope leading up to the hot springs and Andy slid off his horse.

"This the place? Ain't we been here before? Looks familiar..."

"Yeah... I mean yessir, we have. It's safe and sheltered. Here, let me help you down."

"What's wrong with my foot? Hurts like hell..." Jess complained as Andy lowered him to the ledge at the rim of the pool.

"I'm sure it does. You sprained your ankle."

"My head hurts like the dickens, too."

Andy didn't have an answer for that one but it seemed reasonable that whatever was going on inside Jess' head had a direct bearing on his erratic behavior. The previous users had considerately left a lantern on the ledge. Andy lit it and brought it around so that the light would fall on Jess' face as he knelt down.

 _I'm spending as much time on my knees as a Catholic these days..._

Slumped back against the rockface, Jess squinted his eyes and batted a hand toward the lantern.

"How 'bout shinin' that someplace else?"

Andy turned down the lamp and held it to the side as he examined Jess's face, not really knowing what he was looking for.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that, Andy?"

Andy nearly jumped out of his skin. Just like that, without warning, the real Jess was back.

"Jess... do you know where we are?" he asked softly.

"What kinda question is that?"

"Do you remember us riding here?"

"Of course I..." Confusion clouded Jess' face.

"What's the last thing you _do_ remember?"

"I woke up an' you were gone... I was sick... you came back. Rabbits... I remember you had rabbits... after that it's... I don't know..." Jess attempted a sickly grin and gave it up with a moan. "Any minute now my head's gonna split like a ripe melon..."

In the silence that followed, Andy groped fruitlessly for consoling words... anything that would serve as a lifeline that Jess could cling to, that would save him from retreating to that dark, scarred corner of his psyche where he kept the war memories boxed up tight.

 _Slim has a box of bad memories, too. I know this only because Jonesy warned me off asking questions of either one of them. Even worse, they fought on opposite sides, so it's a subject best left undisturbed._

"Andy... what's happenin' to me? I feel like I'm dyin'..." Jess' voice was barely above a whisper as his eyelids descended. Andy fancied he could actually see him fading away. Not his physical presence, of course, but the spark of sentience or personality or whatever it is that illuminates the person within.

"No... you're not dying or anywhere close to it. You just had a bad week full of rotten luck, is all..." Andy prayed he at least sounded confident because he certainly didn't feel that way.

Jess eyes flew open. "I need a nap. Wake me up in time to help harness the team before the three o'clock gets here, okay?" Then his eyes rolled back and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Faced with Jess having mentally kited off to another dimension, Andy could no longer stave off a panic attack. Whatever was wrong with Jess went far beyond his ability to handle. Medical attention was urgently needed... and his only recourse lay in those oblong white tents just out of sight beyond the trees...

"I'm going for help. You stay put. I mean it, Jess!" Not that Jess could hear him.

Without second thoughts Andy leaped on Ranger and tore off downhill, Scout sprinting behind.


	24. Chapter 24

_Chapter 24:_ **FEVERED DREAMS**

Seated on a fallen log near their campfire, Thea, Terry and Viva were combing out and plaiting their freshly-washed hair for the night. Over their nightdresses they wore matching thick chenille robes with their sorority insignia embroidered over the left breast. Each girl received one upon her first birthday in the sisterhood—a personal present from housemother Ellie Jo. They were discussing the latest peccadilloes of Victoria Woodhull, one of the proponents of the women's suffrage movement and notorious for her rabble-rousing advocacy of free love and women's _other_ freedoms beside the right to vote. While the liberated ladies of Pi Alpha Lambda Sigma didn't embrace _all_ of the woman's causes, they were unanimously in favor of equal rights for women in all aspects of life... politics, business, education and home. _Especially_ in the home.

Heady stuff, this equal rights issue, and once they had a good discussion going they tended to become engrossed in it to the exclusion of everything else... even Bismarck raising his head from his paws and issuing a low, throaty growl of warning.

Lucy and Katie were squatting at water's edge, engaged in après-dinner washing up. Josie was sitting in her tent, writing in her journal. In her own tent, Ellie Jo was going over tomorrow's schedule when all hell broke loose in a cacophony of barking, shrieking and thundering hooves. With both hands on Bismarck's collar, Terry was doing her utmost to restrain the snarling, struggling beast from attacking the intruder, her heels leaving furrows in the dirt as he dragged her forward.

Andy was still mounted, searching desperately for the face he most wanted—the professor doctor... or doctor professor... whatever. Thea and Viva were the first to recover and had the presence of mind to each grab hold of a bridle. Ellie Jo flew out of her tent, rifle at the ready.

"What's the meaning of this, you..." The epithet died on her lips as she absorbed the look of alarm on the boy's white face. His mouth was moving but nothing was coming out. Hyperventilating, too.

Ellie Jo turned her head slightly to bark a command at the black dog, which immediately sank to its belly, dragging Terry down with him. Returning her attention to Andy, she advised him to dismount before he passed out and fell off. Handing the rifle to Josie, who'd also run out of her tent, Ellie Jo placed her hands on Andy's shoulders, compelling him to face her squarely. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with the boy himself.

The six girls clustered around them, intensely interested in whatever dire news was about to be imparted... and in how their leader would handle it. This, too was part of the medical training process... retrieving information pertinent to the case before examination, diagnosis and treatment.

"Take a deep breath...that's it... compose yourself. Tell me... slowly now... what is the problem."

"It's Jess... on the way here he started acting crazy, thinking we're back in the war... and then he passed out up there at the springs..."

"Is he running a fever? Any nausea?"

"No fever that I can tell, but he puked a couple of hours ago..."

"Has he eaten anything unusual since I saw him this morning?"

"I don't know... I haven't been with him every single minute..."

"Have _you_ had an adverse reaction to anything you've both eaten?"

"No m'am."

"Has he ever exhibited anaphylaxis?"

"Huh?"

"Ah... allergic reaction... like to a snakebite or insect sting?"

"Not that I know of, m'am."

"No chance he's pulling a practical joke on you, is there?"

"No m'am. No way. Begging your pardon, m'am... my friend's hurt. He's up there all alone... can you please hurry?"

"Give me three minutes to change clothes. Lucy, Katie... as you're still dressed, you'll be with us."

Only then did Andy realize he was surrounded by a bevy of females in their nightclothes save the two who'd been washing dishes. He knew he was blushing furiously, could feel the heat rising to the roots of his hair. Couldn't help it... even though at home—under the same roof with eight women and his bedroom on the same hall as the bathroom—he quite often encountered females in various states of _déshabillé_.

They could have walked up to the hot springs, but as the horses were already there, they simply doubled up—Ellie Jo with Katie behind and Lucy pressed against Andy's back, once he'd removed the gun secreted there and stowing it in a saddle bag.

 _Damned uncooperative man parts!_ Good thing it was dark as the inside of a black cow as soon as you stepped away from the lantern.

Andy quickly found himself supernumerary to the proceedings as the doctor and the two future physicians took over—but that was okay. He was happy to stay in the shadows until his own status became less prominent.

 _Stop thinking about Lucy!_

After a bit of poking and prodding and muttered conferencing, Ellie Jo stood up and beckoned him over. "I found a scalp hematoma consistent with a blow to the head, but no evidence of skull fracture. That doesn't mean there _isn't_ one. The symptoms you've described—nausea, fatigue, disorientation and confusion—are in keeping with mild to moderate concussion. Some of them indicate a possible subdural hematoma. That doesn't mean there _is_ one. In any case, there's been some sort of cranial trauma."

All Andy distilled from the medical jargon was that Jess had a head injury. That was scary enough. "Can you do anything? Will he be alright?"

"Not much _can_ be done, aside from keeping him calm and comfortable for several days until we see where this is going. I'm positive that when we question Mr. Harper during his next period of lucidity, light will be shed on how he arrived at his current state."

"We can't leave him up here... out in the open..."

"Of course not. Here's what we're going to do..."

Four pairs of hands made quick work of lifting the inert body onto Scout's saddle, slung belly-down like a sack of potatoes. When Andy objected that Jess would be mortified about being delivered in such an undignified manner into the camp of women, Ellie Jo promised she'd enact a vow of secrecy from all observers. They proceeded downhill on foot—Katie in the lead with the lantern and a firm grip on Ranger's bridle, holding the animal to a slow walk. Lucy led Scout directly behind with Ellie Jo and Andy on either side steadying the load.

Before leaving, Ellie Jo had dashed off a number of orders. At the receiving end, the other medicos-in-training had been busy. Designed to accommodate two adults, the doctor's capacious tent had been rearranged with the addition of a spare folding cot from their stores. Her campaign desk had been shoved into a corner in order to make room for a pallet on the floor. An alcohol lamp on the desk and a lantern suspended from the ridgepole provided adequate illumination.

Jess was unceremoniously—though with care—offloaded and carried inside. Ellie Jo dispensed instructions to the audience and they dispersed, leaving the doctor, her patient and her newly-appointed orderly alone in the tent.

"You want me to what?"

"Help me get his outer clothing off. And don't go all modest on me, Andy. Bear in mind that this tent is now a sickroom... a field hospital, if you will."

"If you say so, m'am... doctor... uh..."

Ellie Jo rolled her eyes. "Oh for heaven's sake... just call me Miss Ellie and have done with it. You'll be sleeping over there for tonight." She pointed at the pallet and Andy's eyes widened.

"In here... with him... and you...?"

"If and when he wakes up, he'll be reassured by a familiar face... not to mention, he'll appreciate male assistance with... ah... certain needs."

 _Have to stop blushing like this... this is embarrassing._

"Yes m'am. That makes sense. Um... but... what if doesn't recognize me?"

"Let's not worry about that yet. From what you've said, it appears he does... even if he happens to be experiencing a flashback."

A more cynical and suspicious soul than Ellie Jo might have questioned the nature of a youth's attachment to an unrelated older man. But it didn't matter and this wasn't the time. She grasped Andy's hand with a reassuring squeeze.

"I can see that there's an extraordinary bond between you. Jess Harper must be an exceptional individual. I'd like to hear about it when the dust settles, if you're inclined to share..."

The next few minutes passed in a blur of activity. With Jess peeled down to his skivvies, Ellie Jo investigated all his other minor injuries to determine if any needed attention. They didn't, and the patient was bundled up and tucked in. Reeling with fatigue, Andy remembered belatedly there were still two horses that needed seeing to... plus he urgently needed to visit whatever passed for their facility. Leaving the alcohol lamp on low flame, the doctor drew him outside the tent where Lucy and Katie remained by the campfire.

"The girls have already taken care of the horses. The latrine's over there..." Ellie Jo pointed. "Are you hungry? No? Very well, then. We'll have tea when you come back, with something to steady your nerves. I'm going to need your help... more to the point, _Jess_ is going to need it. By the way, he seems to have developed a slight fever. I'm anticipating a restless night for him and not much sleep for us. I'd advise you to rest while you can."

The nerve-steadying 'something' turned out to be high-proof brandy that completely obliterated Andy's lingering anxiety as he lurched off to the tent. Too sleepy to do any more than remove his boots, he lay on the pallet fully clothed and pulled the blanket up to his chin. What a day! Conjuring up an image of himself and Lucy, together in the tall grass, he slid into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Jess' transition from unconsciousness to sleep state occurred shortly after his attendants left the tent. Dreams came crowding in... a battlefield where he lay among the casualties of both armies. The salvageable wounded had been evacuated—himself somehow overlooked—but the dead not yet collected. Dying horses had already been dispatched. There was no sound but the wind. Weak from blood loss, too cold and numb to feel pain but unable to move, he lay there looking up as the cloudless blue sky turned pink and purple and then black. The stars came out. Why wasn't he dead yet?

Amid disembodied voices in the darkness, he was carried away by unseen hands and taken to a field hospital, where a triage nurse determined there were others in more urgent need of attention. With daylight came pain, and the discovery that he was just one of many untreated lying in rows outside a surgical tent.

Fade to black... and he was the sole patient in a hospital tent though someone was always with him. It was very dim in there. Strong, firm hands belonging to shadowy faceless figures ministered to him, fed him, helped him up when need be... all the while talking to him. Sometimes he thought he answered but wasn't sure. One voice was different from the others. He was too hot. He was too cold. He waited to die. He _wanted_ to die.

But he didn't. Powerless to move, he listened to two doctors talking about how a spent bullet had neatly inserted itself between the clavicle and first rib, nicking the subclavian vein by a hair and lodging against the visceral pleura of the apical lobe of his left lung. An eighth of an inch lower would have severed the vein. A quarter inch deeper would have penetrated the lung itself. They were discussing the fact that, although no one knew _why_ , some people's blood clotted more readily than others and this is what had saved this patient when others with lesser wounds had bled out.

Change of scenery. A different sort of war. Packs of hired guns, shooting at one another over someone else's water rights. Himself looking down as life ebbed from the eyes of a fallen challenger. Himself making an escape on a stolen horse... if they caught him, he'd hang... but if he hurried he'd make the badlands by nightfall. Making a detour to help change out horses for a stagecoach. Falling into a river and nearly drowning...

So smooth and seamless was Jess' further ascension to wakefulness that he wasn't at all alarmed at finding himself in unfamiliar surrounds. _Warm and comfortable, except for this headache. No need to get up. No need to move at all._ Old habits die hard, however, and he couldn't help taking stock of everything he could see or deduce with minimal rotation of his head, which _did_ hurt—the slanted underside of a peaked-roof, cabin-style canvas tent; an unlit lantern depending from the ridgepole; the folding cot against the opposite sidewall, parallel to the one on which he lay; a campaign desk pushed up against the back wall—on its surface a spirit lamp providing dim light. In the far corner by the doorflaps, an unmoving body occupied a pallet on the floor, face obscured.

 _Where the hell am I an' how'd I get here? Who belongs to the empty cot an' who's that on the pallet?_

Hearing footsteps outside the tent and the crackling of canvas flaps being peeled open and falling back into place, Jess closed his eyes and feigned sleep. Didn't feel like talking to a stranger right now, be it accomplice or captor. Instead he listened to the rustling sounds of a woman getting ready for bed...

 _A woman? Has to be. No man ever smelled like that! Definitely a woman's soft hand on my brow, lookin' for fever, I reckon. Sure does smell nice...wonder who she is?_

With a somnolence that in his younger days his innate sense of self-preservation would never have permitted, Jess drifted back to sleep, his question unanswered.

Ellie Jo was not an easy woman to deceive. Upon entering the tent she'd first bent over to check on Andy, who was snuffling in that utterly relaxed state that only the very young seemed to be able to attain. A tiny but perceptible hitch in the breathing of the other occupant suggested he wasn't as asleep as he might have wanted her to believe. Seeing no reason in disrupting his charade at the moment, she prudently turned her back and slipped her nightdress over her head and torso. Undoing the buttons on her shirt and pants underneath, she shrugged them off and thrust her arms into the sleeves of the nightdress.

With socks and boots removed, she padded in her bare feet over the canvas ground cloth and softly laid a palm on Jess' forehead. Slightly warmer than she would have liked but nothing to be too concerned about... yet. She had to reach under the covers to extract a hand and feel for a pulse. His heartbeat was strong and steady. Excellent.

Ellie Jo smiled to herself, resisting the urge to laugh. He was awake alright, although barely. She could feel the tension in the hand she was holding. She wondered what, if anything, he might be thinking. For her part, if naughty notions made themselves audible, she suspected they'd both be in a pickle at the moment!

 _Shame on you, Elvira Josephine! The man's in no kind of shape for athletics... even if he were in prime condition. And what makes you think he'd even be interested? If you were Emmie Lou, yes maybe... but you're too old for him. Probably too plump as well. Besides, you are a Doctor. He is a Patient. Focus on objectivity, you silly cow!_

Fortunately the moment passed as the cowboy with the spell-binding blue eyes sank beneath the waves once more. Ellie Jo sighed and tucked the unreponsive hand back under the covers before retreating to her own cot. There she lay, willing herself to sleep as she imagined herself where no doubt a legion of women had gone before and a host of others would have liked to.


	25. Chapter 25

_Chapter 25:_ **THE MORNING AFTER**

Andy awoke to shafts of sunlight streaming through the tent's open door flaps. He wouldn't have minded a few more minutes of sleep but urgent needs intervened. Sitting up, he debated whether or not he had time to put on his boots for a rapid transit to the latrine when he beheld the most unlikely object he would ever have expected to see in a tent in the wilderness—a china chamberpot with lid, reposing under the cot on the opposite wall. Enough daylight penetrated the canvas that he was even able to discern its color—a glazed cobalt blue almost matching the pair of eyes staring back at him from atop the cot.

"Andy? That you?"

"Jess? You awake?"

"I asked first..."

Andy knee-walked over to the cot, dire straits momentarily forgotten in his excitement.

"Jess! Are you okay? How're you feeling?"

Shielding his eyes with one hand, Jess propped himself up on the other elbow.

"Wouldja please close those flaps? The light's hurtin' my eyes..."

Andy jumped up to comply.

"Thanks." Jess tried to sit up and groaned, falling back against the pillow. "Don't know which end's gonna explode first... my head or..."

Immediately reminded of why he'd got up in the first place, Andy dragged the pot into full view. Further discourse was delayed until relief was obtained on both their parts. Pushing the receptacle out of sight, Andy pulled Ellie Jo's camp stool from under her desk and positioned it close to Jess' head.

 _If I had me a dollar for every time I've sat watch at Jess' sickbed I'd be a rich man. He's looking pretty rough right now but at least he's coherent..._

Andy's joy was short-lived,however, as Jess' next words scotched that observation.

"The cap'n sure do enjoy his niceties, don't he? Can't crap in the woods like everyone else! He ain't gonna be happy with a hospital rat quartered in his tent."

"Uh... Jess... what captain?"

"Cap'n Foley, who else? You his new aide?"

 _Think fast, old son. Miss Ellie says to go along with anything he says if it keeps him calm. Hope he doesn't ask me too much military stuff... I barely know enough to fake it..._

"Um... no... I'm just an orderly. Captain Foley's away on a mission and the hospital tent's full up. That's why you're here instead of there. I'm supposed to look after you and make sure you rest... until your wounds heal."

"Was I wounded? Where?"

Jess tried to prop himself up again, as if to satisfy himself he was still in possession of the requisite number of limbs. Andy pushed him down.

"Don't worry... you're not missing anything important." _Except your right mind._ "It's all minor but the doctor ordered bedrest for the next few days."

That seemed to appease the patient. He bobbed his head in understanding... until a peal of feminine laughter from somewhere outside caught his attention.

"Women... here? This close to the front lines?"

"Ah... uh... actually, we're not that close... way, way back, as a matter of fact..."

"Can't be nurses... no females allowed in field hospitals... must be whores! Are they pretty? Can you get one to come in here so's I can see her?"

 _Oh shit! Now what? Gotta squash that notion right away before one of the girls hears him!_

"Jess... listen to me... pay attention... these ladies are _not_ nurses or whores... they're _doctors_. Do you understand?"

"I ain't stupid. There ain't no lady doctors out here. You're funnin' me!"

"I swear to you I ain't... I'm not... kidding. These're respectable girls... ladies. They'll be coming in here to check on you and you'd better be on your best behavior, you hear me?"

"If you say so..."

 _Christ on a sidesaddle! What if he makes a lewd suggestion... or worse... tries to fondle one? Our geese'll be cooked for sure. But no... Jess won't do that... I've seen him around fancy women and he's always been respectful, even when liquored up. But that's in peacetime. No telling how he might have been in wartime... I've heard stories about bloodlust and atrocities committed against women... on both sides. Maybe I'd better first have a word with Miss Ellie... I think she might be the one to understand..._

Andy was shaken out of his reverie by a hand gripping his arm.

"Andy?" Jess' voice sounded different somehow. Too, his expression had changed to one of confusion... soldier-Jess supplanted by present-day-Jess.

 _If he keeps this up I'm going to get whiplash of the brain!_

"Andy... I don't feel too good."

"I know you don't, Jess. But you'll get better sooner if you just lie still and rest," Andy wheedled.

"Too warm in here. Ain't you too warm?"

"Close your eyes. Think about something nice..."

"You know too much thinkin' gives me the headache... even when I ain't hurt."

The self-disparaging attempt at levity was encouraging as it reflected the _real_ Jess... not the one lost between then and now.

A figure stepped into the tent, briefly backlit before tugging the flaps back into place. It was the doctor, carrying a tray with a tin carafe, two enameled mugs and two small jars. The aroma of coffee swirled through the tent, making Andy's mouth water as childhood training kicked in and he shot to his feet.

"How's our patient, Andy?" Ellie Jo inquired before setting down the tray and turning up the alcohol lamp on the desk. "There... that's better. Total darkness isn't necessary or even advisable."

"Good news, Miss Ellie... he's awake... and _here,_ if you know what I mean... for right now, that is... he, um, wasn't earlier."

"Good news indeed."

"He's complaining he's too warm..."

"Is he now? Why don't you go get yourself some breakfast and I'll sit with him for a bit."

"I... uh... that okay with you, Jess? It's Doctor Ellie... you remember her, don't you? From yesterday?"

"I remember. Do like she says. Go on while you got the chance."

Jess waited until the kid had ducked out the door.

"What's he talkin' about... me bein' here... an' not here?"

The gravelly, almost guttural demand suggested some hostility to Ellie Jo's presence. She chose to ignore that as she filled a mug with the fragrant brew and ladled in sugar and milk before leaning around to present it as a peace offering. Once again Jess rose up on an elbow. Accepting the coffee and taking a tentative sip, he was pleasantly surprised—perfect... just the way he liked it and not so hot it wanted saucering and blowing. Not that he had a saucer.

Ellie Jo filled her own mug before turning, with a disarming smile, to plant herself on the recently vacated stool. "You look like a cream-and-sugar kinda man. I took the liberty." She eyed him over the rim of the mug. "Lucky guess?"

"Dead on," Jess agreed. "Thanks. This sure tastes good. We used the last of our condensed milk this mornin'."

"We've got plenty. Refill?"

"Yes, please..."

With the coffee ritual, reciprocal eye-balling and sizing-up of opponents out of the way, the doctor got down to brass tacks. But instead of the inevitable doctor-question, Ellie Jo shocked Jess with her less than lady-like approach.

"I won't insult you by asking you how you're feeling as I'm sure it's on a par with shit on a stick. However, I _am_ concerned about the headache, assuming you still have one."

"Yes m'am. Bangin' away like a kettle drum."

"Uhuh. Well, the usual way one acquires a headache of that magnitude is by incurring an injury to the head. Can you tell me what happened yesterday, after I left you? You seemed in reasonably good order at the time... other than the, ah, fish hook and filet knife incident."

Her query met with silence as those interesting eyebrows of his scrunched together in the effort to force recall the events of the previous day.

 _They look just like those squiggly diacritical marks over the letter 'n' in the Spanish language—_ tildes, _I believe they're called. How cute is that? And those eyelashes... truly a criminal waste on a man!_

Jess handed over the empty mug and rolled back onto his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

"I... I don't remember much of anythin' after you rode off. I think I caught some fish. I know I was pukin' sick... pardon me. After that it's pretty much a blank. I don't remember how I got here... in your camp I mean. I guess this is your tent, too?"

"It is."

"I shouldn't be puttin' you out like this. When Andy comes back to help me, we'll get outta your hair an' back to our digs."

Ellie Jo leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and hands clasped loosely inbetween.

"You're not going anywhere, I'm afraid."

"You can't keep me here if..." It was a feeble show of belligerence at best. They both knew it.

"If I might explain, Mr. Harper..."

"Please... can't you call me 'Jess'? 'Mr. Harper' makes me feel like I'm standin' in front of a judge or somethin'."

"Alright... Jess. As a fully qualified general physician, I have diagnosed you with concussion severe enough to occasion cognitive impairment and retrograde amnesia. At some point yesterday you sustained a head injury that caused it. It's possible you might not ever remember the details but it happened nonetheless."

"But I _know_ who I am," Jess argued, seizing on 'amnesia' as the only term he truly understood.

"Not _that_ kind of amnesia... with this kind you can access old memories but the newest ones—the ones immediately preceding the trauma itself—are temporarily unavailable. Most likely you will recover completely in a few days if you follow my recommendation and agree to bedrest."

"I can't lay here for..."

"A secondary benefit will be restoration of mobility to your damaged ankle."

"Miss Ellie... uh... Doctor... could you just say what you gotta say in plain English?"

Ellie Jo sighed in frustration.

"In order to heal, your brain requires as little movement as possible in a calm environment. Unfortunately, as your head is attached to the rest of you, _all_ of you must remain supine... lying down on your back, that is. Which in turn means you're keeping your weight off your foot so that _it_ can heal. I don't believe I can make that any clearer."

"Yes m'am. I understand. Don't like it but I get it."

"I do hope your objection is to the situation in general rather than me personally... or the fact that I'm a female physician."

"Oh no m'am... not at all... that you're a lady, I mean. If fact, I had a lady doc tend me back in the spring an' she... well, I reckon she did as good a job as any..."

"High praise, I'm sure," Ellie Jo retorted with a sardonic grin. "Be forewarned, I'll be sharing attendance with my six young ladies. As doctors in training they'll welcome the experience."

She had to stifle her amusement at his expression of alarm.

"I don't know about..."

"Don't look so worried. They're not nurses and I wouldn't ask them to function as such. Andy will attend to your personal needs."

Jess had plenty more questions but Ellie Jo indicated the interview was over by putting a hand to his chest when he attempted to rise and pushing him back down. Admitting to himself that he had neither the strength nor the inclination to resist, he subsided against the pillows. Too, his concentration was wandering.

"Enough talk for now. Time for you to rest. Close your eyes, Jess Harper."

Another touch to the forehead confirmed that Ellie's charge was definitely feverish... attributable to any number of reasons but her guess would be a natural physiological response to such an overabundance of insults acquired in such a short period of time. The human body could take only so much punishment before it attempted self-repair by gearing down systems. Even that of a relatively young man in relatively prime physical condition. Still too early to worry.

Ellie Jo assured Andy that Jess' fever was comparatively low-grade, that he was not in any real peril, and that vivid dreams were a normal brain function.

"Unpleasant, yes... but they pose no lasting ill effects and medical science is beginning to believe dreams—both good and bad—are actually essential to mental health."

"So... I shouldn't try to wake him up when he's having a nightmare?"

"Not unless he's posing a physical threat to himself or someone else."

"I want Jess back," Andy said miserably.

Ellie was consoling. "Soon. Very soon. He's not that sick and these things generally don't last that long. The concussion is a bit of a complication but I imagine he's been hurt a lot worse in the past and has managed to bounce back. You need to be here for him when he does, strong and acting as if all is well..."

"But all _isn't_ well," Andy objected. "He can't walk. And you have no idea how cranky he gets when he's laid up!"

Ellie Jo laughed. "Oh... I have a pretty good idea, believe me! Want to hear some good news?"

"There's good news?"

"Of course. By now he'll be able to put some weight on that ankle and get around on his own... with a stick, of course. Just for the time being. The two of you can go back to fishing and your vacation won't be a complete loss."

"I sure do hope you're right about that, Miss Ellie."

"I am. Be patient."


	26. Chapter 26

_Chapter 26:_ **THE CONVERSATION**

Miss Ellie _was_ right...but it took another twenty-four hours to prove so. Andy had the watch when Jess came around to full consciousness. Closing the book he'd been reading and folding his arms around it, he gravely regarded his friend, waiting for a sign of recognition.

"Andy... that you?"

"Welcome back, Jess."

"Where've I been?"

"In and out of it with the fever... dreaming a lot. Bad dreams."

Jess considered the implications and shivered.

"I remember talkin' with Miss Ellie some... this is her tent, right?"

"Yes, it is."

"You been here the whole time?"

"Not the whole time, no. We took turns staying with you, taking care of you."

" _We?_ "

Andy shrugged. "Me. Miss Ellie. The gir... her students."

Jess groaned, his humiliation complete.

"Was I talkin' outta my head?"

"Some. Nothing important. Mostly didn't make much sense." Andy stood up. "I'd better call Miss Ellie... she said you'd need to eat something soon's you woke up. No... don't try to get up just yet... not until she says you can. I'll be right back..."

In the few minutes he had to himself and realizing he _was_ hungry, Jess conducted a personal inventory... nausea gone and headache just a shade of its former torment. Stitches gone from his arm and most of the minor abrasions scabbed over. The swelling in his knee and ankle had subsided—he could actually flex the ankle joint with only a little soreness. Putting weight on the foot might be another matter. From past experience he knew there'd be stiffness in his back, hips and neck from too much time spent flat on his back. The sooner he was on his feet, the happier he'd be.

On the hygiene front Jess was appalled... oily-skinned and sweat-damp. Greasy hair, furry face. Gummy eyes, fuzzy teeth (thanks to Slim's relentless insistence they set a good example for Andy, he now felt guilty if he let a day go by without a good twigging, or brushing if he had one). In addition, a definite whiff of skunk was wafting gently from the area of his right foot. He sure could do with a bar of soap and a good scrubbing in the hot springs.

Three or four years ago, while still on the drift, Jess wouldn't have minded being this grubby... or even have noticed. This would've been more or less his natural condition inbetween jaunts into towns. But now that he'd become _domesticated_ , so to speak, he was all too aware of being disgustingly grimy in this camp of women... and unable to do anything about it.

Ellie Jo ducked to enter the tent, with a covered dish in one hand and a coffee pot in the other. Right behind her was Andy carrying a basket covered with a red-and-white checked cloth. As they turned to arrange things on the table, a mouth-watering aroma began competing with the eye-watering ones. Andy lit the overhead lantern for the first time and Jess had to squint his eyes against the brightness.

"I'll take over from here, Andy. Thanks for the help."

The youngster blinked at the summary dismissal, his expression seeking acknowledgment from Jess. Getting it in the form of a single nod, he exited the tent, leaving his partner with a view of the doctor's backside as she busied herself with the basket.

"That sure do smell good, m'am," Jess offered quietly.

"Don't get too excited, big boy." The reply floated back over her shoulder. "All you're getting today is toast and soup. And it's Ellie, remember?"

"Yes, m... Miss Ellie. That'll do just fine," he said meekly. Fried chicken would've been finer but he knew which side his toast was buttered on. At least he _hoped_ it was buttered.

The woman turned and cocked her head in appraisal, one eyebrow raised and hands on hips.

"You're making good progress. I'm pleased."

"I'm sure sorry to be a trouble to you an' your... um... the other ladies..."

"Not so much trouble. My interns are thrilled to have a live specimen on which to practice their skills. Perhaps you'd like to try sitting up?"

Jess wasn't too thrilled at being classified as a 'live specimen' but held his tongue. And 'sitting up' wasn't anywhere near as easy as he thought it would be... pushing his torso up with both hands brought on a spell of dizziness.

"Take your time," Ellie Jo advised.

Each leg seemed to weigh a ton as Jess dragged it off the cot and balanced himself precariously on the edge. Even breathing was more laborious than expected. His hands trembled as Ellie extended a bowl and a spoon. He shook his head, admitting "I'm afraid I'll spill it."

The doctor hooked over the wooden stool with her foot and sat down facing him.

"I'll help you hold the bowl to start with, but you're well enough to feed yourself. Don't worry about dribbling."

This was more than awkward—both of them supporting the bowl with their left hands while Jess dutifully spooned up soup with his right—but genuine hunger overcame fear of looking foolish. The soup was excellent—not the bland, watery sickroom fare he was expecting—but hot and lightly spiced, thick with noodles, shredded vegetables, mushrooms and tiny tender cubes of chicken. Well... not _real_ chicken, he knew—probably some of that ptarmigan what fell into his lap the other day. Whatever... it was delicious.

"Didn't know you had a Chinaman cookin' for you," Jess commented, handing over the empty bowl. Ellie stood up to exchange it for a tin plate of buttered toast rounds, reseating herself across the tent in the folding camp chair.

"We don't. The girls take turns. Viva's expertise is in French and oriental. I believe she was taught by a family retainer. What would a cowboy know of Chinese cuisine, if I might ask?"

"We had us one a them Celestials for a coupla weeks..."

"Only a few weeks? What happened to him?"

"He were a she... little old lady with a face like a dried apple. Mean as a snake, but served up the best grub I ever threw a lip over. She was just on loan to us for a little while. Sure hated to see 'er go..."

"Where was this, then?"

"Back home... Sherman Ranch outside a Laramie. Where me an' Andy's from."

"Are you...? Never mind... I tend to forget it's considered rude to ask personal questions out here in the west." On second thought, Ellie Jo left the unasked question to dangle tantalizingly in the mild air current circulating through the tent.

She'd been about to inquire if he were kin to the Shermans... just to see how he'd respond. Once Lucy had owned up to the nature of her encounter with them, some two years previous, she'd gone on to describe Jess' relationship to the Sherman brothers... along with whatever of his pre-history she'd gleaned in the months following, before departing the convent for college.

Just how much of the man's reputation was hearsay—or actually deserved—Ellie Jo wasn't prepared to judge. There was gossip... and then there was _legend._ Just because _'they'_ said he was a dangerous man didn't make it so. Jess was as yet unaware of Lucy's presence; therefore, he had no idea Ellie Jo knew as much about him as she did. She decided to let that ignorance prevail for the time being.

Despite the exigencies of war and their unconventional upbringing, the five Burns daughters had nonetheless been subjected to rigorous training in the social graces. Any Southern belle worth her hoop skirts was adept at managing a stall point in conversation with a gentleman... that uncomfortably elongated pause which she could choose to either alleviate or prolong, depending on her interest in the man in question.

In general, a man was never happier than when expounding on his favorite subject: himself. The gentlest prod could move him along. But there was always the exception... the rogue male whose desireability factor was obversely proportional to his willingness to disclose personal information—the more you wanted to know, the less likely you'd be able to extract anything useful. In such a case, passive inquisition was the tactic of choice and Elvira Josephine Burns-Wainwright wasn't above employing it against a man whose physical defenses were depleted and mental acuity compromised.

Green eyes locked on blue ones with hypnotic intensity as—in effect—the spider silently invited the fly to walk into her parlor...

Having just crammed the last round of toast in his mouth, Jess wasn't able to respond right away... as she could plainly see... and which gave him an opportunity to revisit his observations of... how many days ago? He'd completely lost track. How long had he been unconscious... or sleeping... or whatever?

He wondered if her hair smelled as nice today as it did a couple of days ago... then remembered how rank _he_ probably smelled and was ashamed. Ellie Jo was wearing it up today, haphazardly gathered into a messy bun, with escaping twists and tendrils framing her face and glowing copper in the lantern light.

She had a wide mouth with a thin upper lip, with half-moon indentations—laugh dimples—at the corners. Her eyes reflected emerald fire. Even clad in loose-fitting menswear, she was maintaining the impeccable posture of any well-born lady in her drawing room—back straight, knees and ankles together, hands gracefully entwined in her lap. The only visible flesh other than her face was her throat and cleavage on display above a shirt unbuttoned to the beginnings of a camisole, and hands and forearms below sleeves rolled up to the elbow. How in heck was the woman able to convey such a sense of voluptuousness, of raw sexuality?

Jess was put in mind of a lioness he'd seen once in cage in a circus... except in this case _he_ was the captive and _she_ was the spectator... or predator. With another woman—one of his dance-hall queens, for instance—he might've been moved to quip playfully, 'Oh go ahead, honey... ask me anything you like!' and then proceed to spin some fanciful tale. Such cavalier behavior was out of the question with _this_ woman, however... he couldn't begin to fathom what she might be thinking. Her expression gave nothing away. Not a clue. It was unnerving.

Clearly it was his turn to say something. Anything that wouldn't reveal him as a complete idiot. Something complimentary...

"That was real good bread, Miss Ellie..." It was a start.

"We make our own every other day. Katie showed us how to construct an earth oven out of rocks and mud."

"Kinda surprised y'all know how to bake... bein'... not housewives, that is..." Jess floundered. "It ain't that easy. I know... tried it myself."

"We _are_ women, after all. Regardless of our professional aspirations we're still obliged to perform _some_ household maintenance. Most of my young ladies weren't raised in privileged households with servants. They learned the usual domestic arts at their mothers' knees and elbows. They're quite capable of fending for themselves when it comes to cooking or cleaning. Sadly, I can't claim the same skill sets."

"Awww... I bet you're good at anything you turn your hand to!"

"How gallant! But untrue."

"But you're a doctor... that's somethin'!"

"With little clinical experience. I'm an educator, Jess... not a practitioner."

"You never... uh... did any real doctorin'?"

"Of course I did... during the war. People at home kept on getting hurt and sick and having babies even though most of the men were called away. A lot of us women took over... whether patients liked it or not... we were all they had."

That satisfied his curiosity on one account—she was a lot older than he'd first estimated. But did that really matter?

"An' afterwards?"

"Afterwards there was a very great need for educators to prepare the next generation of physicians. I returned to university to complete my final year of medical school... and stayed on to teach."

Jess shook his head. "I don't see what teachin's got to do with you bringin' these girls... women... out here. I mean, what're you expectin' 'em to learn? There's only two kinds a females around here—the ones that're married or lookin' to find husbands... an' the... other kind. The territories're no place for respectable single women... not even doctors. Except maybe for nuns an' widows."

"You may be right about that in some respects, Jess... but civilization is moving westward much faster than you realize. You have the war to thank for that. By destabilizing the entire agronomic structure of the South, it's rendered thousands of families homeless and poverty-stricken... they have nowhere to go _but_ west, hoping to start over. And every war in history has precipitated surges in technological development... that in itself causes massive shifts in demographics and social perceptions. My lifestyle back East will remain substantially the same as it's always been... but yours will undergo a radical transformation in just the next decade or two."

"How do you mean?"

"Let's table that discussion for another time. How are you feeling right now?"

Disconcerted by the abrupt query, Jess had to stop and think about it. How _did_ he feel? Pretty good, actually—considering the fire that shot up his leg every time he turned his foot the wrong way. He'd got so caught up in this rare exchange with a woman that he'd almost forgot their circumstances. It occurred to him that this was the first time in his life an intelligent, educated, sophisticated _respectable_ female had addressed him as an equal rather than an ignorant cowpoke beneath her dignity. She used big words he didn't rightly know... but couched in terms he could understand. She either took no notice or didn't care that his grammar wasn't as refined as hers. He liked that. Very much. He liked her. Also very much. But he had a question to answer...

"Feelin' a lot better than when I woke up. Thanks for takin' time to set with me... an' takin' my mind off... well... the way things are..."

"You're quite welcome. Would I be wrong in assuming you might feel even better if we could get you cleaned up some?"

"No, m'am... you wouldn't... but..." Jess tried to keep the nervous stutter out of his voice. "How... um... who... how...?"

"I'm thinking if Andy brings your horse around we could get you up to the hot springs... but only if you feel up to it..."

"Oh, I'm up for it," Jess broke in fervently. "That would be great... really great!"

He looked down and ruefully examined the fresh soup stains on his already soiled longjohns. "I can't go outside lookin' like this, though."

Ellie Jo grinned. "Relax! None of the girls are around at the moment. They're all out on today's assignments. Andy's here, though... down by the lake with a pole in the water, on standby. You hang tight and I'll be back in a few minutes."

 _As if I could get up and run off..._


	27. Chapter 27

_Chapter 27:_ **INDECENT PROPOSALS**

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Taking a moment to collect himself, Jess looked up from his perch on the pool's rim. The effort of being manhandled onto the back of a horse then off again had left him short of breath. Though Andy and Ellie Jo had taken care to avoid jostling his ankle, any movement at all caused spikes of pain which he was determined to keep them from seeing on his face.

 _Sure beats all how a few measly days of inactivity can beat the stuffin' right outta a fella!_

"Well ain't you gonna leave so's I can get undressed?"

"Don't flatter yourself. You don't have anything I haven't seen before," the doctor retorted dryly.

"I don't care what you seen or ain't seen... go away! An' don't try pullin' that trick you did the other day..."

"What trick was that?"

"Pretendin' to take your clothes off... ain't gonna work this time."

 _How can a woman grin like that an' radiate mischievousness at the same time?_

"You thought I was pulling your leg, huh? Well, if it'll make you feel less self-conscious, I'll strip right now and get in the water first..."

Behind her, Andy was blushing furiously. Jess could feel the heat rising on his own face.

 _What respectable woman in her right mind gets nekkid in front of a man what ain't her husband. What red-blooded man in his right mind turns down a chance to savor nature's bounty? Is this some kinda challenge... or test? Is she callin' me out?_

For a few moments Jess' innate sense of morality wrestled with his primal urges. Morality wasn't doing so well when Andy the diplomat stepped in to defuse the situation.

"Miss Ellie... m'am. We know you're just having a little fun with us, but maybe you'd best let us get on with it while Jess has the energy. We don't want to tire him out..."

"No... we certainly don't want that." Her abrupt reversion to starchy propriety was disconcerting. "You _are_ planning to get in there with him, yes?"

"Yes m'am. I ain't... I'm not gonna let him drown."

"You'll find everything you need in there." Ellie waved toward the large basket she'd toted up the slope. "I'll be back in about an hour. If you run into any trouble, there's a pistol at the bottom. I'm sticking around camp so one shot'll be enough of an alert."

It'd been a long time since a bath'd felt this good, Jess mused as he slumped on the submerged ledge with hot water burbling at his chin.

' _Course, it's been a long time since I been this filthy... or this beat up._

Andy'd been prepared to help him scrub but Jess'd insisted there wasn't any need. Ellie Jo's basket contained bar soap, washcloths, sea sponges, luffas, a nail brush and a long-handled bristle brush for back scrubbing. True, it'd taken him longer than usual to work his way down from head to toes on account of frequently having to pause for rest. When he'd complained they'd forgot to pack shaving gear, Andy'd said the doctor meant to attend to that once they were back in camp.

Physical woes temporarily in abeyance, Jess allowed his mind to wander in happier pastures. It had been a long time since a lot of things... a woman, for instance. Not that he'd lost any of his youthful zest for the company of sporting girls—he enjoyed the occasional encounter whenever time and finances permitted... and that was it, wasn't it?

Before lighting at the Sherman ranch, he'd lived from paycheck to paycheck and spent that way, too. A night on the town meant splurging on a meal in a restaurant, a visit to a barber and a public bathhouse, checking out a saloon or two, and—before a hotel room with a proper bed and depending on how much money was left—an hour or so of enjoyment with a pretty whore.

Life was so very different now. He ate good every day, shaved every day, bathed in a tub more than once a week. When he did go into town, which wasn't even once a week anymore, it was usually on business—with just a shot of rye and a round of poker at Irish Lily's place and many unfulfilled promises to the working girls who clamored for his attention. More often than not he'd be on his way home before full dark set in, mindful of chores awaiting him the next morning. For the first time in his life, Jess had a savings account in a banking institution... not a lot, but steadily increasing. Probably wouldn't ever amount to enough, say, to start up his own outfit... but it represented a dream and influenced his discretionary spending.

 _Come to think of it,_ _when_ was _the last time I cut me a heifer out of a herd an' hazed her upstairs? Last month? Month before that?_

Leaning against the rock wall, eyes closed, Jess thought about the young ladies of the lake camp. So far he'd seen two up close and two not so close—all four wearing boys' clothes but attractive creatures, no less. Two more he hadn't met yet. Then there was their bell mare—no outstanding beauty there but certainly one to set a man's blood to racin'. A naughty little notion skipped in and out...

 _What if this whole business a female doctors in trainin' is a sham? A cover-up a some kind? What if they're some_ other _kind of professionals an' the so-called doctor's their... madam?_

It was an unworthy thought and he knew it. And it wouldn't make sense for them to be out here in the middle of nowhere. Furthermore, Jess had met _real_ madams along the way—Josephine 'Chicago Joe' Airey up in Helena, Eleanor 'Madame Mustache' Dumont down in Tombstone, Mollie 'Queen of the Blondes' Johnson over in Deadwood. Doctor Ellie Jo Wainwright in no way, shape, form or manner resembled those women. In those cases, no amount of paint and powder, airs and graces or pretensions of quality made up for lack of breeding or refinement.

A notable exception was Laramie's own Emmaline 'Madame Aline' Giancomo whose covert involvement in the flesh trade became public only after she'd retired and moved away. So, yes... it was _possible_ someone like Ellie Jo _could_ be walking on the wild side—living a double life or even triple life as had Mrs. Giancomo, who'd also been known as 'Nurse Emma.' Miss Ellie's unusually offhand manner _could_ be construed as someone with morals somewhat more relaxed than the norm, willing to share the joy... but Jess wasn't about to make a fool of himself with even the suggestion of an indecent proposal!

It sometimes seemed to Jess that women were an entirely different specie—put on this earth specifically to delight, harrass and confound men... and perpetuate the human race, of course. Aside from the females who dressed for success on saloon dance floors and openly peddled their wares, the average gal was hard to read with any great degree of accuracy. A flirty wink might signal 'yes' while a fan snapped open in a fella's face clearly meant 'no'. Jess had learned the hard way to never, ever take a woman's interest... or availability... for granted, although he'd never been one to force himself on a woman in the first place. And yeah... he was sure that more than one opportunity had been lost due to reticence on his part.

Unfortunately, now that the _possibility_ —however remote—of bedding the red-headed doctor had lodged itself in his brain, he knew it was gonna be the very devil to _not_ think about it. Even if he were physically capable of rising to the occasion, which in his current state he very much doubted. Life could be cruel.

"You doin' okay?"

Andy's voice in his ear startled him. His eyes shot open.

"What? Yeah... yeah... I'm good..."

"You were making faces like you just stubbed your toe or something..."

"Nah... just daydreaming is all..."

"About what?"

 _Well... I certainly ain't gonna tell him I was dreamin' about havin' a go at Ellie Jo..._

"Dinner. Wonderin' what's for dinner... an' if I'll get any real food."

"You about ready to quit?"

"I guess so..."

"I'll get out first and then pull you up, okay?"

"Okay. Take your time. This feels good."

Getting out of the pool was considerably more complicated than getting in. An hour's worth of weightless had left Jess with rubbery legs and a false sense of security where his sprained ankle was concerned. As Andy reached out a hand to haul him up, he thoughtlessly planted his right foot on the ledge. The resultant jolt of pain sent him floundering backwards into the water in shock.

Already in his longjohns, Andy leaped to the rescue, pulling his coughing, sputtering partner to the surface. After several abortive maneuvers, he at last succeeded in boosting Jess to the rim by applying a shoulder to the man's bare backside and shoving mightily. Now safely seated on the rock wall, Jess toweled himself off as Andy divested himself of his soggy longjohns and wrung them out.

"Sorry about that," Jess apologized. "Just wasn't thinkin'."

"Reckon I'll just have to go without, then," Andy said. "Don't let on to the ladies..."

Somehow the notion of strutting around without any underwear tickled both of them and they started laughing.

"Sorry you hurt your ankle again," Andy said. "I should've thought to remind you."

"My own stupidity. Not your fault."

"We'd better hurry up and get decent before Miss Ellie comes back."

Noticing the clean and folded change of clothing stacked nearby, Jess commented it sure was nice of the ladies to have done their laundry for them.

"I'll have you know I'm the one did that! They didn't offer and I didn't ask."

Andy went on to remind him that it was Jess himself who'd reprimanded him when he'd whined about being assigned by Jonesy to help with the weekly washing. _'Ain't necessarily women's work, boy... all them years on the drift, I learnt to do my own,'_ Jess'd said, pegging clothes on the line right alongside the petulant boy. And Andy'd figured if his hero could do it competently without complaint, so could he.

Watching the doctor leading Scout up the slope and resisting the impulse to rub his throbbing ankle—which wouldn't provide a damned bit of relief—Jess fixed on his face the smile he wasn't really feeling. Would've got away with it, too... if he hadn't yielded to the ingrained, subconscious gentlemanly necessity of standing up in the presence of a lady. The ankle was having none of it and he went down with a yelp.

Ellie Jo looked down, shaking her head in amusement. "Really, Mr. Harper... you needn't abase yourself every time our paths intersect. A simple bow and kiss on the hand would suffice."

If only he could have, Jess would've crawled away in sheer mortification.

"Come, Andy. Let's get our wounded warrior up before he does himself any further mischief..."

Now looking up at Jess on Scout's back, Ellie Jo patted his right leg. "Aside from this, all better now?"

"Can't begin to tell you how much! Now if I could just get rid a this..." He rubbed his lower face.

"I believe we can address both those issues before dinner."

"Dinner sounds good..."

"It will be. The girls are all back and looking forward to meeting you... the ones who haven't already, that is."

 _The 'live specimen' ain't so sure how he feels about meetin' them, though!_

Jess' self-consciousness continued as they came into the camp proper and halted in front of Ellie Jo's tent. The four young women in sight spared glances and nods of recognition before returning to whatever they were doing. The camp chair and stool had been moved outside, with an upturned wooden crate serving as a side table where shave gear was arranged on a towel. Andy and Ellie exercised extra care in sliding Jess off the horse and depositing him in the chair, propping the ailing extremity on a footrest improvised from a second box with a folded blanket on it. Andy picked up an enameled basin and stalked toward the pair of girls working in the cooking area.

"First a shave and then I'll take care of that ankle."

"Do I hafta do this out here in public?" Jess growled.

"Not enough light in the tent." Ellie shrugged. "Don't fuss. No one's paying any attention to us."

Andy returned with the basin full of hot water, setting it on the box. Ellie Jo plunged a hand towel into the basin, wrung it out and folded it in half.

"Tilt your head back."

Jess allowed her to drape the hot, damp towel over his face. Evidently she knew what she was doing. He heard the stropping sound of steel meeting leather. Then a peek over the edge of the towel revealed her to be whipping up lather in a white china mug... not his own tin one that doubled as a beverage mug.

The towel came off and Ellie was applying the creamy soap to Jess' whiskers before he could object. When she reached for the straight razor, however, his hand shot out to grasp her wrist.

"I'd druther do it myself, if you wouldn't mind holdin' the mirror for me."

"Suit yourself," she replied, holding back the observation that a blade wielded by a tremulous hand was bound to result in bloodletting.

It needed only three strokes to convince the man that he wasn't quite as steady as he thought. He yielded the instrument to Ellie and the basin soon filled with pink-tinged foam sprinkled with black hairs. She rinsed and dried his face with cold water Andy had brought up in a bucket, and applied an alum block to weepers and cuts.

"Ow... ow ow OW... that stings!"

"Only for a moment. Or would you rather meet the girls with little bits of tissue stuck all over your face...?"

"No... ow! That's okay..."

"Hang on a second..." Ellie Jo produced a comb and hit his still bath-damp hair a lick. Without the smear of pomade Jess usually employed to keep it styled back and neatly parted, it instantly reverted to its natural untamed wavy state, falling over his forehead.

Ellie sat back and held up the mirror.

"Look at you! Aren't you the handsome lad!" Furrowing her brows and pursing her lips, Ellie pretended to take a more critical view. "Maybe a little _too_ goodlooking. Perhaps my girls would be best served with a caution to look away lest they turn into pillars of salt!"

Jess blushed and Andy, who'd been standing by the whole time, had to turn away to hide the guffaw trying to explode.

"Miss Ellie... I would no more disrespect..." Jess croaked, unable to finish the sentence.

Adopting a decidedly lascivious leer, she clasped the mirror to her bosom with both hands and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Why Mr. Harper... you're so pretty that if I found you in my bedroll I'd give you just thirty days to get out!"

Jess was truly stupefied, at a loss for words until he heard Andy choking back the belly laugh.

"Oh... you think that's funny, do ya? A woman windin' you up like that? I'll give _you_ funny!"

Andy turned back, hands held up in supplication, nose running and tears dribbling down his cheeks. "You should see your face... it's dang near purple. Can't you take a joke?"

At the moment, no... he really couldn't. He was too steamed.

Unabashed, Ellie Jo sloshed out the mug in the basin, threw out the soapy contents and filled the basin with the shave gear and damp, stained towels to carry to the tent. Passing Jess, she leaned over and whispered in his ear. His mouth fell open and eyebrows shot straight up.

Andy stopped giggling. "What'd she say to you, Jess? You look like you just been snakebit."

"Tell you later." Surely he'd misheard... and if he hadn't... well... what _did_ she mean by it?


	28. Chapter 28

_Chapter 28:_ **CONUNDRUM**

Cirrus clouds underlit with pink skittered overhead against a sky darkening to purple in the east. To the west the serrated black horizon stood out against the orange glow of sunset. A middling breeze kept the midges away but the season's first mosquitoes were already on the wing—in another month they'd be almost intolerable. Jess slapped at one irritably as Ellie returned with a worn leather satchel, a doctor's bag. All sobersides now, she moved the wooden crate around in front of him and planted herself on it.

"We'll be eating soon. Would you prefer to dine out here with the rest of us or would you rather retreat to the tent?"

"Out here's fine." That was a bit gruff. "Thanks."

"Andy... would you go check with the chefs? And bring Lucy and Katie back with you, if you don't mind? Oh... and a pail of hot water and some soap..."

"Yes m'am. Glad to..."

Andy melted away and Ellie Jo open the satchel, commanding, "Let's see that ankle now."

"Why? Whatcha gonna do?"

"You'll see."

Jess cautiously extended the leg and the doctor slid off his moccasin to balance his foot on her knees. With both palms cupping his heel, she used her thumbs and forefingers to locate the strained ligament in his ankle before setting the foot back down on her knee. He watched in curiosity as she uncorked a glass vial and dribbled an oily liquid first into one palm and then the other. Recorking the vial and setting it aside, she began massaging his foot above and below the ligament, concentrating on the instep and bridge.

Totally unaccustomed to anyone but himself messing with his feet, Jess' initial animal response was panic—the urge to flee from danger. Unlike a wild thing, though, his subconscious mind accepted that there was no harm intended, and so he sat perfectly still until he could process what was being done to him. This was intimacy of a sort completely outside his realm of experience.

Whatever was in the oil began warming up and soaking in... not with the heat of an alcohol-based liniment—more like the warmth that ran down the throat from a slug of high-proof whiskey. It had a foreign, spicy scent to it—not unpleasant, and not the stink of the salve she'd used earlier. It felt wonderful.

Watching her work was mesmerizing—he was startled when she looked up with a nice little smile... the normal smile of a woman pleased with herself. And when she spoke... that, too, was in a pleasing tone without a trace of sarcasm. He couldn't help but smile back even though every fiber of his being was screaming _'don't touch that sore spot!'_.

"Try to relax your foot, Jess. I'm not going to hurt you... although there'll be some discomfort when I work on the tendon and ligaments."

He found his voice. "How do you know exactly where it hurts? You ain't me."

"I teach anatomy and physiology. I know where everything is inside the human body, and how it responds to injury. Your ankle's not nearly so swollen, incidentally. After I wrap it up you should be able to put a little weight on it."

"Still hurts."

"Of course it does. And it will for a while. Be still so I can finish up here."

Ellie Jo's hands had not stopped moving as she talked, but now her fingers searched for the spot he was dreading, massaging crosswise rather than lengthwise. Yes... he felt pain... but not as acute as anticipated and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Andy told me about your broken leg two years ago, so I know you know how important it is to keep that joint from seizing up like your knee did. I'll bet that was agony... getting that moving again..."

"It sure was..."

"Yet you survived. This is nothing in comparison."

"I reckon you're right."

"Let's wrap you up now... just in time for supper."

Ellie Jo finished tying off the bandage, replaced the moccasin and arose just as Andy cruised up with two females in tow. Although it was getting on dusk, Jess was pretty sure these were the two he hadn't met yet. He attempted to stand up and Ellie Jo pushed him right back down.

"Girls... meet Jess Harper... Jess, this is Katie Bear, Wind River Reservation... and Lucy Benton, originally from North Carolina."

"Pleased to meet both of you." It wasn't customary for men and women to shake hands upon introduction but both girls offered so he obliged.

"We've not met before but I've heard a lot about you," the dark-haired, dusky-skinned girl said. "Andy's father and mine were friends... Chief Dancing Bear..."

"Slim's mentioned him a coupla times... you're Shoshone, right? I wish I'da got to meet your pa."

"He passed away before you came here, I believe. I haven't seen Slim in years but we have a friend in common. He keeps me informed... Cory Lake—my cousin, actually."

"Yeah, sure... I know Cory... how about that."

Katie stepped back to allow Lucy her moment. Jess was thinking the petite blonde looked vaguely familiar and she laughed at his expression.

"I know... you're trying to remember where you know me from..."

"We've met before...?"

"Indeed we have, Mr. Harper... if you'll recall a covey of religious sisters that spent an interesting few days herding cattle on your ranch...?"

"You! You was the little 'un that weren't really a nun yet... but... what are you doin' here... outta uniform, I guess you call it...?"

"Didn't make the grade, as it happened, so I'm studying to be a doctor instead."

"Well.. I'll just be da... uh... ducked!" Jess caught Ellie Jo's eye just in time as she was washing the oily substance from her hands. He was feeling conspicuous, being the only one seated while everyone else was standing... but there wasn't much he could do about it. Ellie clapped her hands for attention.

"The girls made something for you, Jess. Andy, did you bring it?"

Andy stepped forward, extending the object he'd been carrying—a crutch as elegantly crafted as any store-bought one.

Jess took it, examining the workmanship in awe. "You girls made this?"

"Katie, mostly," Lucy said. "Since she already knows how to make bows and arrows. I did the leatherwork and stitching on the pad and handgrip."

"I sure do thank you," Jess said, "This is real nice... but I ain't sure I'm ready..."

"You're ready," Ellie Jo cut in. "You just put your left arm around my neck and we'll take it slow. Andy'll spot you on the other side."

"Well... okay... we'll give 'er a try."

It was only fifty feet or so from Ellie's tent to the campfire and the other three tents arrayed nearby in a semicircle... but it might as well been fifty laborious miles to Jess, hobbling along with a crutch under one arm and the doctor under the other. Only one instance of bumping the injured foot on the ground reminded him to keep it elevated out of harm's way. By the time they arrived at the area set up for communal dining, beads of sweat had broken out on his temples and he was feeling more than a little shaky.

A small folding table had been conjured up from somewhere and placed in front of a suitable 'sitting rock' for Jess. As he was seated, with Ellie Jo and Andy exchanging knowing glances above his head, she silently signaled a request for a private exchange out of his hearing.

"He's not looking so good, Miss Ellie... maybe we should get him back to the tent," Andy whispered worriedly.

"He doesn't want us to know, Andy. Not betraying weakness is important to a man like Jess. You do understand that, don't you? Let's let him hold onto his pride a little while longer, okay?"

"Well... okay... I guess... but..."

"But nothing. I'm optimistic he'll get over this little setback as soon as he's got on the outside of a good meal. Trust me on this... a patient's outlook improves considerably when he's given something to think about other than his woes—like the company of pretty girls."

That may well be, Andy thought, although in his estimation it was most likely the doctor herself Jess was thinking about. Not that he was an expert on the matter... but he'd been around Jess long enough to know the difference between Jess being flirty and funloving with females in general... and Jess being hung up on a particular woman. Whenever that happened—fortunately not too often—Jess got all serious and moody like a broody hen, exactly like Slim got whenever he had a marital possibility in his sights.

The way Jess'd been acting around Doctor Ellie this past week, discounting all the injuries, was completely out of character for him. Did he like her? Did he _not_ like her? Of course, Andy admitted to himself, he'd been so caught up in his new association with Lucy that he hadn't been attuned to subtle shifts in the wind. It occurred to him that here was a prime opportunity to glean some valuable insight into man-woman relationships... information that would be useful when he got old—like Jess and Slim. He vowed to pay closer attention from now on.

The remaining girls—Thea Brewster and Josie Randall, Terry O'Brian and Viva Cooper—materialized in pairs to be introduced with grave formality as if making their debuts. Jess felt somewhat ridiculous at first, but his shyness was soon overcome by their easy company as plates were laden and passed around. He could never have envisioned such a scenario... all around him young women enjoying their evening meal in the same careless camaraderie as a typical group of cowboys.

The tall blonde New Englander, Thea, winked as she set down Jess' plate. "A little bird told us your favorite food is chicken and dumplings. The closest we could get was grouse. Hope you enjoy it..."

Enjoy it he did, along with a superb cobbler made with canned cherries. The hours slipped by as Andy volunteered to assist Terry and Viva, who'd drawn washing-up duty. The others, including Ellie Jo, sat on the ground around the campfire, easily drawing their guest of honor into general conversation without once posing a direct question. Jess was astonished to find himself so completely at ease. When fatigue set in, it hit him like a sledgehammer.

"Time for you to hit the hay, sport," Ellie Jo observed sagely.

The reverse trek to Ellie's tent in the full dark wasn't without some renewal of discomfort on Jess' part. He gritted his teeth and got on with it, subsiding onto the cot with relief.

"I'll leave you to get him fixed up, Andy." The doctor prudently excused herself so the men could proceed with honor intact. Presently the youngster emerged to join her.

"He's not asleep yet but says he's doesn't need anybody fussing over him," Andy reported, then just stood there fidgeting in the dark.

"Something on your mind?"

"Well... yes m'am... I was wondering... that is, if you wouldn't mind...?"

"Yes?"

"Jess won't be needing me for a while and I'd kinda like to... well, it's a pretty night and we'd like to..." Andy stammered. "Lucy and me... I... we'd like to go for a walk..." There, he'd got it out.

Ellie Jo didn't need to be able to see the boy's face to ken what this request had cost him. She'd already sized him up days ago and concluded that he was basically a decent young man, well-mannered and honorable, albeit naïve. She had no illusions whatsoever about what had happened out there in the tall grass. No moral objections, either. What better introduction to the art of lovemaking than with an older, knowledgeable partner who would acquaint him with the proper way—the caring, gentle way—to go about it? A much better approach, to Ellie's thinking, than breaking in an adolescent with a visit to a bordello then expecting him to understand that a future bride needed to be treated differently. Lucy had a good head on her shoulders. Along with ways and means she would convey the responsibility that went along with it.

"You don't really need my permission, Andy, but I'm pleased that you thought to ask. You run along now. I'm about ready to turn in myself. If Jess needs anything, I'll take care of it."

"Thanks, Miss Ellie!" He turned and trotted off in the direction of the campfire, where the girls were tidying up. Lucy detached herself from the group and the couple walked away toward the lakeshore. A few minutes later Ellie Jo approached Lucy's tentmate with a request. Bidding all good night, she returned to her own tent and entered, pulling the flaps closed behind her.

The table'd been returned to its spot near the door and Andy'd left the spirit lamp there, burning at its lowest setting. Jess was resting on his side with his right arm curled under his head, blue eyes glittering in the lamplight.

"Where's Andy?"

"Gone for a stroll with Lucy." Ellie Jo extinguished the spirit lamp. With the closed flaps excluding light from the near-full moon, the interior was as dark as a dungeon. Deciding to sleep in her underwear, she merely shed her boots and shucked off her outer clothing

"When's he comin' back?"

"When they're done walking. I thought you were tired?" Ellie gave her pillow a good pounding to fluff it up some.

"I _am_ tired."

"Then go to sleep. You don't need Andy to do that." Squirreling under her quilt, the doctor squirmed around to find just the right position.

Minutes ticked by with only muffled noises and muted voices from the direction of the campfire and the other tents sporadically permeating the canvas. Andy still wasn't back. Nor was Ellie Jo expecting him, having made other arrangements. She could tell from the pattern of breathing coming from the other cot that Jess was still awake. And because he couldn't sleep, she couldn't either.

"Don't make me have to go over there and put a pillow over your face," she threatened.

"I ain't botherin' you."

"Yes. You are. I can hear you breathing."

"Well 'scuse me. Can't sleep is all, worryin' 'bout Andy." Jess sounded almost plaintive.

"Andy's a great big boy. He can take care of himself."

The expected objection didn't materialize... not within the next few minutes, anyway.

Finally... "This ain't right."

Ellie Jo heaved a theatrical sigh. "What's not right?"

"You. Me. Alone. In this here tent."

"This is your fourth night sleeping in this tent. What, pray tell, is different about tonight?"

"I were unconscious before... an' Andy was here..."

"So is he like your _dueña_ or something? Upholding your honor?"

"You know dang well what I mean..."

"Sooooooo... you're worried about what people will say about the two of us... um... cohabiting?"

"If word gets out, that's your reputation gone..."

"I see. So if word gets out that I've slept with _two_ men in the tent, my reputation will be double gone?"

"Two...? Andy's just a boy! He ain't but sixteen!"

"Oh... he's man enough. And how do you know for sure he _has_ been here every night, since you've been out of it?"

Before that suggestion had time to soak in and take root, the flaps parted and a figure was momentarily silhouetted against the moonlight. Unless he'd suddenly sprouted breasts and long hair, it wasn't Andy. The flaps closed.

"You guys asleep yet?" Jess recognized Katie's voice.

"Yes," Ellie Jo said.

"No," Jess said, adding anxiously, "You seen Andy? He okay?"

"Yup. Seen him. He's good. 'Night y'all... sorry if I woke you."

Jess could hear the rustling sounds of someone climbing into a bedroll. He was still trying to figure out what in tarnation was going on when soft ladylike snores began drifting upward.


	29. Chapter 29

_Chapter 29:_ **TWO DEGREES OF SEPARATION**

The next Jess knew, Andy's hand was shaking him awake and daylight was streaming through the open flaps.

"Rise and shine, partner. We've got fish to catch!"

"Huh? What?" Shielding his eyes against the light, Jess sat up and swung his legs off the cot, remembering just in time to set the right one down _gently_. He needed a minute to orient himself—tent, empty cot, camp chair, empty bedroll, wooden stool, table... and on the table: coffee pot, cups, spoons, sugar jar, tinned milk...

Jess croaked and pointed a finger. Andy grinned and turned to fix cups for them both. Handing Jess his, the youngster appropriated the camp chair and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle, his expression somewhere between the cat that got the cream and the one that ate the canary.

"Where is everybody?" Jess finally managed to articulate. That was the trouble with sleeping like the dead for so long... when you finally did wake up you _felt_ like you'd died!

"Let's see... Miss Ellie took Lucy and Katie off to visit that cave they missed seeing the other day—that day we met 'em. It's Terry and Viva's turn to hunt. Josie and Thea are out collecting plant specimens. We've got the camp to ourselves..."

"Speakin' of camp... you been over to check on ours?"

"Oh... that's right... I've been waiting to tell you... Lucy helped me pack up and move yesterday. Our horses and mules are turned out with theirs."

"Move... where?"

"Close by here. We'll be sleeping in our own tent tonight..."

Which reminded Jess... where _had_ Andy slept last night... _and with whom?_ He opened his mouth to ask, then—recalling the doctor's words _'... he's man enough'_ —reconsidered and shut it again. No denying the allusion...

 _My adopted brother's grown up and I never seen it comin.'_

That made him sad and proud at the same time. That kid he'd befriended years ago wasn't a kid anymore. Jess wondered if Slim had yet arrived at that realization. He and Slim hadn't talked much about Andy in recent years, since he'd been away at school. And they no longer fought over him as they occasionally had back in the early days of Jess' residency in the Sherman household.

Sure, there was another child on the ranch these days, but Mike was an entirely different case as Slim and Jess were, in effect, co-parents with equal rights in his upbringing. Too, Mike's personality was radically different from Andy's, being much more manageable and much less introspective than Andy'd ever been. Perhaps having a woman in the home—Aunt Daisy—was responsible for that.

Jess waited to see if any admission would be forthcoming, harking back to the days the boy couldn't wait to share any new experience with his hero buddy. When he'd run to the gate to greet Jess as he rode up, face sparkling with excitement and words bubbling up like clear water from a spring. Those days were gone. Jess would just have to accept that.

 _Slim's gonna absolutely shit a brick. He's gonna kill me._

"More coffee?" Andy's question intruded on Jess' thoughts.

"Uh... sure... yes, please..."

Replenishing Jess' mug, Andy returned to the chair. "Miss Ellie says it's time for you to start walking on your own."

"An' how'm I 'sposed to do that? It hurts, dammit!"

"You walked last night."

"With her help."

"And you'll walk today... without help. She says there's no reason you can't... your ankle's sound enough to put weight on it. She says..."

" _She_ says... _she_ says. Who died an' made her queen?" Jess barked.

"Nobody. But she _is_ the doctor, remember?"

"How can I forget?"

Andy stood slowly and with great deliberation lowered his tin mug to the table.

"I don't know what's eatin' you, Jess. You ought to be pleased. There's no call to be taking out your bad mood on me."

"Andy... I..."

"I'll be outside. Gimme a holler when you're ready."

Andy stalked out, leaving an astonished Jess to reflect that it'd been years since the kid'd got in his face about anything. He'd long forgot Andrew Sherman owned a temper and stubborn streak every bit as fierce as his older brother's... or his own, for that matter. Where he differed from his elders was in his ability to restrain those traits with poise and reserve.

After dressing himself and making use of the thundermug, Jess lay back on the cot and studied the tent's ceiling. Why _was_ he in such a thunderous mood? He couldn't very well continue to be annoyed with the doctor and her gaggle of students. After all, once they'd got past the initial suspicion of his and Andy's presence, they'd been nothing but kind and helpful and generous... especially in coping with his unbelievable spate of bad luck.

He had to admit that, in addition to his battered physical condition, his psyche was taking a hell of a beating... men were supposed to be the leaders and protectors and he wasn't in any shape to do either. At the moment he was pretty danged useless as a representative of the male of the specie... not that he could see any of these ladies needing leading or protecting... but what if they did?

Although Jess couldn't pinpoint anything Ellie Jo had said or done that would indicate she was looking down her nose at him, he had a sneaking suspicion that she might be just toying with him. She was probably thinking what a sorry specimen of manhood he was, and laughing up her sleeve at his ineptness. If it weren't for her happening to possess the doctoring expertise he needed, she probably wouldn't have bothered to give him the time of day... certainly wouldn't take the time to get to know him. She probably assumed a man like him wouldn't know the meaning of morals, scruples and ethics. And if she found out what he was— _used to be_ , he corrected himself—why, she'd be downright horrified.

Jess couldn't pretend he wasn't aware of his attractiveness to women of all ages. Whether spruced up in his Sunday go-to-meetin' duds or filthy and unshaven from having just come off a trail drive, heads turned when he walked by. And over the years he'd had his dalliances with respectable, nonprofessional females—just not as many as everyone seemed to think. For one thing, there weren't that many unattached ones (mavericks, in his mind) running around loose, and the ones what were were generally trolling for husbands, which Jess didn't have any interest in becoming one of. Not yet, anyway. Maybe some time in the misty future.

Like most every other unmarried man his age, Jess was accustomed to satisfying his needs with partners for hire wherever available. He didn't have a lot of experience with mature, upperclass women... certainly had never bedded one... although he could _admire_ someone like Professor Wainwright, appreciate her looks if she had any, and _think_ about what it might be like. The lady fell within the guidelines of his admittedly loosely-constructed moral code, but he wasn't about to risk giving offense by making unwelcome overtures. Too, he felt he needed to present, for Andy's sake, a model of proper conduct in the presence of the six younger women. Well... he _had_ felt that way.

Jess had two strict rules about dealing with females, one of which he'd violated a time or two with disastrous consequences and much regret... and that was Married Women—always a bad idea no matter how willing. The second was Underage Girls—morally reprehensible no matter that the young lady in question who _looked_ to be a ripe old eighteen-year-old turned out to be fourteen. Either one was likely to get you shot or hung.

It was almost comical... here he was in the back of beyond, with a now not-so-innocent sixteen-year-old boy, an attractive but unattainable mature woman far above his pay grade, and six equally attractive nubile girls above the age of consent. And there was nothing he could do about any of it.

Boring and unproductive, a solitary pity-party generally wears itself out early due to lack of commiseration. Jess again sat up and shoved his feet in his moccasins. Then he called out for Andy.

Acting as though nothing was amiss, Andy put together lunch from bread and cold meats. Jess was ravenous, having missed breakfast. They ate together in polite silence.

"Look, Andy... I'm sorry," Jess ventured meekly, handing over his empty plate.

"I know."

"You mentioned fishin'?"

"I did. Only if you're interested..."

"I'm interested."

Andy finally grinned. "I've already got the horses and gear ready..."

"You know me too well."

"I should hope so by now."

"Especially how to make me feel guilty..."

"Yeah... that, too."

Andy'd scouted out a prime fishing spot on the northwest corner of the lake where boulders tumbling down the Sugarloaf had formed a natural deep hole. A narrow trail serpentining through rocky crevasses debauched into a secluded open oval with enough grass to keep the horses busy for hours. Flat-topped rocks just right for sitting—some in full sunlight and some in the shade of stunted brushy trees—were strewn along a short stretch of pebbly shore with a two-foot drop-off. Once dismounted, Jess needed less than a dozen steps to the perch of his choice while Andy unloaded their gear.

The hours passed peacefully. Without thinking too much about it, Jess migrated from one side of the shore to the other, shifting from rock to log to stump and back to log, most of the time not even bothering with the crutch or the walking stick. Andy intentionally made no offer to assist, other than to caddy tackle and bait.

The fish seemed to be striking Jess' surface-floating flies and Andy's weighted-hook worms with equal gusto until action waned as afternoon shadow settled over the pool. Reckoning they had enough on their stringers to feed all nine mouths (ten counting Bismarck), Jess called a halt and they started packing up.

On the way back Andy detoured by the reconstructed campsite, where Jess made a point of commenting that Andy'd done a good job of site selection and set up. Their small slant-sided tent was pitched between a single large slab of limestone, suitable for sitting, and a thicket of dense bushes which would afford privacy for other needs. Everything that wouldn't fit in the tent was secured under a tarp nearby.

To tell the truth, Jess wasn't looking forward all that much to sleepin' on the ground, now that he'd got used to the luxury of a cot. Havin' to get down on his knees an' up again was goin' to be an allfired nuisance, but he'd manage somehow. Not only that, they'd be eatin' their own cookin' again. On the other hand, he'd sure sleep better without that consarned _woman_ right there yammerin' in his ear an' tellin' him to go to sleep like a little kid. Yessir. He was sure of it. 'Course, it hadn't been so bad. She'd treated him pretty good... aside from all that teasin'... lookin' after him when he was sick an' all. Fixin' his foot up. An' now he'd never know, would he? If she was just puttin' him on an' all. Why couldn't women be more like men... say what they mean an' mean what they say? Then he wouldn't have to worry about it, would he?

"Looks like the ladies are back, Jess." A totally unnecessary observation as Jess could perfectly well see three of them wending their way upslope toward the hot spring. Two—Terry and Viva—were sitting cross-legged near the campfire, plucking feathers from whatever wildfowl they'd bagged. Andy rode on ahead brandishing the burlap sack full of fish like spoils of war and dropped it next to Viva, getting an ear-to-ear grin in return.

"Fish fry! All right! You gonna help clean em?"

"Sure I will. Let me get Jess situated first and turn the horses out..."

"What about these ducks?" Terry demanded with a frown.

"I'll help, soon's I get down from here..." Jess volunteered and instantly regretted. Those hours out in the fresh air had tired him out and he'd almost dozed off a time or two. His intention _had_ been to have Andy help him to the tent—Ellie's tent—where he could grab a snooze on the cot before supper. But would that even be appropriate, now that he'd been semiofficially turfed out?

The petite Californian arranged a spot for Jess next to the duck-plucking operations, where he could sit in the shade with his back against a rock. Plunking herself down facing him, she tossed him a carcass and pointed to each of three baskets in turn. "Primaries for fletching in there, secondaries for mattresses in there, and down for comforters and pillows in there. When we're done I'll show you how to go after pinfeathers..."

"Ya will, will ya?" Jess grinned at the little brunette. "If I had a nickel for every chicken my ma made me pluck...!"

"Really? I wouldn't have expected a gunfighter to be an expert chickenplucker as well."

The grin faded. "Who's sayin' I'm a gunhawk?"

"We all know who you are..." The girl held his stare without flinching. "Or _were_... if you prefer. We also know you're retired... more or less."

"What would a little thing like you know about it... or me?" This was the last place Jess would've expected the spectres of his past to fly up and slap him in the face.

Terry paused, leaning far forward to touch her fingertips to the toes of his outstretched leg, her brown eyes radiating kindness and sympathy. "I have a black-sheep brother with a reputation as grim as yours, if that's possible." She resumed depluming the expired bird. "For years we've watched him struggle to move away from it, to escape its shadow. We... his family and friends... are confident that in unity we can help him overcome his past."

"You're telling me this... why?"

"I suppose because I see a lot of him in you. Andy's spoken fondly of your relationship... made it abundantly clear that you're considered a member of the family, as much as if you'd been born into it. You're fortunate to have them. They're lucky to have you. Always remember that."

Jess still didn't understand why Terry had brought this up, but it was like chicken soup for the soul to be reminded he was important to somebody. Two more gutted ducks awaited their attention. They'd be at this for a while.

"So Miss Ellie knows... you know... about me?"

"I believe I said as much."

"And she don't... it don't bother her none?"

Terry eyed him speculatively. "Professor Wainwright keeps her impressions and opinions to herself unless we ask for them. She wants us to be able to make pragmatic evaluations without undue influence."

"So y'all been talkin' about me?"

"Of course. Did you think we wouldn't?"

"I ain't never met anyone like her before... or the rest of you, neither," Jess admitted. "I guess what I'm sayin' is I ain't used to bein' 'round so many women smarter'n me. Makes me feel dumb as a fencepost."

Terry shook her head, smiling. "From what Andy says, there's no question of your intelligence, Jess," she said quietly. "It's not a matter of smarts... it's a matter of educational opportunity being restricted to the privileged few of our generation. Post-war industrial revitalization and the natural evolution of societal dynamics are going to change all that. Too late for you but not for your children."

"I ain't got any children, Miss Terry."

"You will someday."

"What's that got to do with all you girls... ladies... set on doin' mens' work?"

"Don't you see? If we women hope to achieve gender equality by the turn of the century, we have to fight for it now. We have to prove ourselves. The next generation—our children—will be coming to maturity then, and if we want them to have equal access to quality education regardless of financial circumstances, regardless of gender, we have to lay the groundwork now..."

"You mean like women gettin' the vote here in Wyomin'?"

Terry shrugged. "Every reform movement has to start somewhere."

Jess held up a placating hand. "Miss Terry... you done got way ahead a me here. I just have two questions you could maybe help me out with...?"

"Yes?"

"First off... you got any idea where Andy spent last night an' why Miss Katie slept in his bedroll?"

"That's two questions."

"I 'spect they's kinda related..."

"Good try but I'm not a tattletale. Next question..."

"D'ya think... maybe... Miss Ellie looks on me with any favor... or..." He left the rest of it unsaid.

Terry was silent for the longest time. "Can't answer that."

"Can't... or won't?"

"Both. It's not my place to interpret her emotional state... or yours, for that matter. And we sisters of the sorority have a pact to honor individual privacy in matters of... well... _those_ matters."

Jess cocked his head and gave the young woman the full benefit of his vaunted animal magnetism (or so, on more than one occasion, he'd been told he possessed)... leprechaun smile in place, blue eyes open wide, eyebrows enticingly tilted upward in humble supplication...

"Throw a poor old dog a biscuit?"

The girl laughed. "Your powers of persuasion are certainly as advertised, Mr. Harper!"

"I do try!"

"Let me put it this way... if she decides to sleep with you, she will. And if she decides otherwise, tough luck."

Shocked into silence, Jess kept his face averted and concentrated on his nearly naked duck for the next fifteen minutes. He didn't dare look at his plucking partner but heard her chuckling from time to time.

Thea and Josie strolled into camp with gunny sacks of plunder slung over their shoulders, followed by Andy and Viva each toting a pail of fish filets. A hastily convened meal-planning conference settled on fish rolled in cornmeal and fried in bacon grease and hush puppies. Along with plant specimens, Thea and Josie had scored a variety of edible greens which they assured would be delicious when cooked with a chunk of fatback and a dash of vinegar.

Jess was reinstalled on the seat of honor and allocated the chore of grinding coffee beans. Everyone paused to listen to unseen voices raised in harmony—the trio returning from the springs. They were singing an old slave spiritual Jess recognized from his childhood...

' _As I went down in the valley to pray, studying about that good old way,_

 _When you shall wear the starry crown... Good Lord, show me the way._

 _O sister, let's go down... let's go down... won't you come on down,_

 _O sister, let's go down... down in the valley to pray.'_

They left the path and came into view single file, Ellie Jo carrying the torch lighting their way. In their identical white cotton chenille robes they gave the impression of angels come to visit down from the mountain. Unfortunately, Jess was immediately put in mind of the three angels of Revelations, come to pronounce woe on the world. His skin prickled.

As the women in camp added their voices in the next stanza, goosebumps crowded out the prickles—seven voices now suggested the seven angels of the Apocalypse and their trumpets of doom. Jess had no idea why his brain retained so much biblical imprintation from his youth—especially the scary bits like the evil portents of the number seven. But he figured any unhappy connotations were more than cancelled by the beauty of their harmony, led by Ellie Jo's rich contralto.

During supper, Ellie Jo approached him briefly to inquire if he intended using the hot springs that evening. Nothing in her manner suggested anything other than professional interest. Whatever playfulness she'd exhibited earlier was conspicuously absent and she artfully maintained her distance throughout an otherwise jolly meal.

The girls were fluttering around Jess on his rocky throne like the hens did at home when someone stepped into the sideyard with a pan of feed. At first somewhat overwhelmed with all the attention, he soon was holding court with a goofy grin. While trying not to hover too closely but taking care to remain within earshot, Andy deduced that the young women had conspired in forming a rota whereby each spent some time in conversation with Jess under the guise of bringing him more food or coffee. At no time was he left unaccompanied.

Quite a few interesting associations came to light during the course of the evening. Katie's cousin Cory had already been mentioned—Jess knew him personally but Andy didn't. Terry's and Josie's brothers were, respectively, a reformed outlaw and a bounty hunter—both of whose names were well-known in the territory. Viva's brother was a Texas Ranger and Thea's was odd-jobbing his way through the West while working on obtaining a law degree through a correspondence course.

Thea and Josie had plotted a safe path up to the pool, cutting back branches and removing as many obstacles and rocks as they could pry up. Rag strips torn from a brightly-colored discarded blouse were tied to short stakes, marking the way at intervals. A signal system had also been devised to simplify pool usage—a white flag fluttering at the entrance meant occupied. When it was taken down, the pool was available.

Spurred by what he perceived as Ellie's challenge, Jess slogged up the slope with crutch and cane. It wasn't easy... and the ankle still hurt... but he made it on his own despite twice tripping on a hidden roots. Though it pained him to admit it, the doctor was right in her assessment. Andy kept his 'I told you so's' to himself.

Upon their return they were apprised of the women's unanimous vote to continue including the two men in mealtimes on the premise that they couldn't possibly sustain themselves on beans, bacon, corn dodgers and catch of the day. The beneficiaries weren't about to argue to the contrary.

"Of course," Terry observed sagely when delivering the decision, "we'd greatly appreciate contributions to the pot. As much as we've been enjoying fish, fowl and _rodentia_ , something on the order of _ungulata_ would be quite welcome..."

"Under what?" Jess asked.

Andy turned to him. "Antelope... deer... elk if we can find one. Whaddya say, you up for a hunting trip tomorrow?"

"Does a bear sh... ? I mean, sure... I can ride!" Jess beamed.

Andy went almost weak with relief... his pard was back!


	30. Chapter 30

_Chapter 30:_ **UNDER THE STRAWBERRY MOON**

The day dawned fair with a light frost that burned off at sunup. Shortly after breakfast, Lucy and Katie joined Jess and Andy in making ready for a hunting expedition over to the next valley, where the prior week Jess'd bagged that young antelope. With any luck the rest of its herd would still be grazing there.

Jess was in a jocular mood. This was as close to normal as he'd felt in a week... and the prospect of a sunny day on the back of a good horse boosted his spirits as nothing else could. Not to mention the company of his great friend and two pretty girls. The only fly in his happy ointment was Ellie Jo continuing to keep her distance... but he didn't have time to dwell on it.

Other than allowing Andy to hoist the saddle onto Scout's back for him, Jess insisted on doing everything else himself, managing to pinch a middle finger between the latigo and rigging ring in the process. The day's designated cooks had packed a picnic lunch in anticipation of the party being gone all day. They were only a few minutes away from heading out when Jess noticed Ellie Jo standing off to the side watching them.

"Hold Scout for a minute, willya?" Handing the reins over to Andy, he limped slowly in her direction, using only the cane for support.

The doctor smiled as he approached. "You're doing so well I feel like I'm meeting a new man!"

"Good morning, Miss Ellie. I feel like a new man an' that's the truth."

"Walk as much as you can but don't force it. Be careful how you go for a few weeks."

Jess was close enough to reach out and take her hand... lightly, so that she could easily pull free if she wanted to. She didn't.

"I was beginnin' to think I offended you in some way."

"No. Not at all."

Sensing that a simple declaration was in order, Jess spoke softly though the others were too far away to overhear.

"I want you to know how much I appreciated you makin' time for me when I needed it... an' how much I miss it now..."

The doctor withdrew her hand and stepped back with an arched eyebrow.

"I was under the impression you couldn't wait to get away from me."

"It weren't that, exactly... it were just... I don't know how to act around you... always so sure a yourself, cool as a cowcumber... an' I'm just... me." Rarely had Jess expressed such vulnerability to a woman... and those occasions had resulted in heartbreak. He knew he was taking an awful chance doing it again... didn't really understand _why_ he was doing it. Only that he had to.

"One of the tenets of the medical profession is never get too involved with a patient—physically, emotionally or any other way." With that, Ellie Jo turned and walked away.

 _Which explains absolutely nothing,_ Jess thought irritably, walking back to his group and mounting up.

A little of the shine had just gone out of his day.

The band of antelope were located exactly where Jess suspected they'd be so the hunt concluded earlier than expected. After a lunch break Andy and the girls field dressed and quartered two small bucks. On the return trip they scored a goose and two grouse hens. All were whisked away by duty cooks Viva and Terry to be butchered and/or hung. The two huntresses adjourned to the hot springs to bathe before dinner.

Jess was loathe to admit it but the unaccustomed hours in the saddle had taken the starch out of him. It didn't take much persuasion on Andy's part to send him to their tent for a nap, whereupon Andy took charge of the horses.

Dinner was another splendid affair—as festive as the night before and twice as tasty with antelope tenderloin steaks sautéed in bacon grease with wild onions and mushrooms, rice and greens cooked in the rich juices. Ellie Jo and the two remaining girls had gone on a berry-gathering jaunt—dessert was Indian frybread drizzled with honey and sprinkled with blueberries. With the washing up done and the sun going down, the company dispersed to pursue other interests.

It would never have occurred to Jess Harper that what later transpired was inevitable. His rambling thoughts hadn't even progressed to the _possibility_ , much less the _probability_ , of a close encounter. And, of course, the day's activities had aggravated the ankle… ratcheting up the soreness to a persistent pain impossible to ignore.

He and Andy had just returned from their twilight soak, scrubbed until they squeaked, refreshed but not yet sleepy. Slipping into clean longjohns and mocs, Jess parked himself on a wide flat boulder twenty feet from the tent entrance.

"You just gonna sit there?" Andy queried. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the tent, lying down?"

"Too early to sleep. I wanna watch the moon come up... gonna be a beauty tonight."

"Want your jacket? It's getting pretty chilly..."

"I could maybe use a blanket to wrap up in..." Jess admitted.

Andy brought back one for each of them, prepared to settle in for gofer duty... but Jess could see he had something on his mind.

"You don't have to nursemaid me—I ain't no invalid."

"Yeah... well... but... what if you need something?"

"Like what? I ain't goin' anywhere. Got water if I need a drink and the bushes if I need 'em... 'Sides, you look like a fella what got an offer he don't wanna refuse..."

Andy grinned and shrugged. "Lucy asked if I'd walk around the lake with her... as far we can go, anyway... and then we'll come right back... but..."

"Go on. Go. Take a lantern with you."

"Probably won't need it..." Andy objected.

"Take one anyway. And a rifle. You don't know what kinda critters might be roamin' around... oh... and a jacket. Don't need you catchin' no cold."

Andy rolled his eyes and sighed. When was Jess going to get a clue? Honestly! He was getting just as old-hen fussy as Slim!

"All right, all right... if _you_ promise _me_ you'll sit right here and not go getting into any trouble..."

Jess hooted. "Aw... what kinda trouble can a ole cripple like me get into? Go on, now..."

Against the plummy backdrop of a sky not yet gone completely dark, the majestically ascending full moon was just clearing the snow-capped crags to the east. Jess had limited knowledge of astronomy—how atmospheric conditions governed the human eye's perception of the moon's colors, or why it appeared so much larger on the horizon than when directly overhead. He knew its phases and the many different names and attributes ascribed to it, depending on the month and the ethnicity of the person describing it. Indians called this the Strawberry Moon while most older white folks called it the Rose Moon. He would soon learn yet another name for the mesmerizing peach-shaded orb dappled with orange and delicate deeper reddish tints indicating the locations of its craters.

Andy went into their tent to get his jacket and the small caliber rifle. Walking past with a _sotto voce_ command to Jess to behave—not entirely in jest—he sauntered toward the female enclave where a dark figure detached itself from a tent and joined him. With the lantern swinging between them, the pair followed the shore counter-clockwise. They passed a shelf of rock jutting out into deeper water where two of the girls had built a compact fire and were trying their luck at night fishing.

Ellie Jo's tent glowed from a light within and Jess could see a shadowy silhouette moving about inside. One of the other smaller tents was similarly lit—laughter pouring out the flaps, the other three girls probably playing cards or telling ghost stories.

Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, Jess reflected that there was a time when he would have been perfectly content to be up here in the high country alone... as he'd been here and elsewhere many, many times before. This was his 'Big Open'... his refuge when the press of crowds became too much to bear, when friends were few and far between, when people he thought were friends let him down, when he was overwhelmed with a need to withdraw from the shattering aftereffects of yet another gun battle that he hadn't wanted but couldn't avoid. Tonight, however, he was unsettled, unwilling to accept that what he was feeling was... lonesome.

The light in the big tent was extinguished and the silhouetted figure stepped out, walking purposefully in Jess' direction. _Oh hell!_ He instantly went on the defensive... no doubt she was geared up to dispense more advice or directives in her superior way and he wasn't in the mood for it. He decided to nip _that_ in the bud!

As Ellie Jo drew nearer, he could see in the semi-darkness that her hair hung loosely about her shoulders and that she'd wrapped herself in a piecework quilt. For an agonizing moment he considered that he was clad only in his longjohns under the blanket.

 _Well heck, she's already done seen more a me than my own ma... what difference does this make?_

"If you're comin' to see if I need anythin', the answer is no," he growled. "I'm fine, thanks, so you can go on back." He was shocked at his own rudeness... he was never, ever rude to a female unless she'd overtly said or done something to deserve it. This one hadn't.

Ellie Jo halted and tilted her head, giving him an amused look.

"Actually, I was coming to see if you'd care to share your rock with me... a moonrise like this isn't meant to be enjoyed alone... but if you'd really rather..."

He wanted her to go, to get out of his space and let him get on with his private melancholy... but ingrained manners got the better of him. He quickly stood up, balancing himself on one foot and with one hand against the rock.

"I'm sorry, m'am... don't know what got into me. Please... sit..."

Ellie Jo took another step forward and Jess said 'Just a minute..."

Pivoting in place, he used his free hand to spread out the blanket Andy'd left. His own blanket slid to the ground.

"Now you can sit..."

Ellie Jo gracefully retrieved his blanket and handed it back, then settled on one end of the rock. Jess eased himself back down with a few inches to spare between them, steeling himself for the barrage of chatter or personal questions he expected was coming... _because that's what women do. They hafta talk or explode. Always actin' like just 'cause they got a man's attention that gives 'em leave to grill 'im like a prairie chicken over a campfire..._ But this one didn't.

This woman had her face turned away from him and toward that spectacular moon, sitting in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Jess examined her profile from the corner of his eye, waiting. Seconds ticked by and then became minutes. She seemed to be totally engrossed in the progress of the moon as it at last detached itself from the grasp of the mountaintops and floated free.

Jess' puzzlement—and impatience—grew as he waited for her to say something... anything. Why did she invite herself to _his_ rock when she had plenty enough big rocks to sit on closer to her own tent? Why would this intelligent, educated, worldly woman choose to spend _any_ time in the company of a lower life form like an ignorant Texas cowboy?

"A glorious sight, isn't it?" she finally murmured. "Atmospheric phenomena like this never fail to remind me what insignificant, short-lived creatures we humans really are. Imagine, if you will... hundreds or even thousands of years ago some primitive native and his mate, sitting just where we are now, looking up at this same moon and those same mountains, wondering what life is all about..."

Although not up on scientific terminology, here was a topic with which Jess had some familiarity.

"I know whatya mean... felt the same way first time I seen the Northern Lights..."

"Ah yes... the aurora borealis... I didn't know it was visible at this latitude."

"Yes, m'am... not so much this time a year, though... mostly in winter and spring."

From there the conversation drifted to other phenomena... such as the lightning generated in an erupting volcano's ash and ice plume (which Ellie Jo had witnessed above Mount Etna in Sicily) and the 'green flash' produced by the setting sun over a large body of water (observed by Jess on Texas' Galveston Island). They talked about other unusual things they'd both seen—moonbows and double rainbows, St. Elmo's Fire and foxfire—although marine phosphorescence and bioluminescence were words foreign to Jess. He told about the synchronized flash patterns of millions of fireflies in the Great Smoky Mountains, which Ellie Jo had never heard of before, having only ever seen ordinary garden-variety randomly-signaling lightning bugs.

Jess wondered why Ellie Jo was proving to be a whole lot easier to talk with tonight than she had previously. Perhaps it was because, in her homely quilt with loose tendrils of hair blowing about her face, she was so much less intimidating? A corner of Jess' mind registered that this was by far the oddest conversation he'd ever had with a woman... or with anyone, for that matter.

The moon's ascendance was imperceptible to the naked eye but it continued to inch upwards, its rich colors slowly but surely leaching away to pastel hues. The already brisk breeze had picked up to a steady wind. A gust blew Jess' blanket off his right shoulder and crept under his untucked longjohn shirt just as he realized his buttocks were numb from sitting in one place too long. He tried shifting position and the twinge in his ankle reminded him to not push with that foot.

The sudden cold plus the pain caused Jess to shiver... and he must have grunted or made some other noise that alerted Ellie Jo. A hand appeared from beneath the quilt and a warm palm cupped itself again his cheek. It was the first time she'd touched him in a purely personal, intimate way... and he liked it.

"You're cold!" she accused, as if he'd done it on purpose.

"I'm good. It ain't that cold..." he proclaimed stoutly, before 'fessing up, "It's my ankle."

She gave him a critical appraisal before pulling back her hand and rooting around for something beneath the quilt.

"Here," she said, producing a corked half-pint glass flask and holding it out. "Try some of this..."

Tucking a portion of his would-be escapee blanket under one arm, Jess winkled out the cork and sniffed. Didn't smell that potent. He took a hit and gasped as flames raced down his throat. He coughed. His ears burned. His eyes watered. His nose ran. Exchanging a linen handkerchief for the bottle, Ellie Jo employed the distraction to scoot over and deftly fling the quilt around both of them.

"What the hell _was_ that?" he demanded when he finally caught his breath.

"Grain alcohol—190-proof. Just a few swallows will light your fire."

Jess didn't realize—at first—how drastically their proximity had altered... until an arm slipped behind him and a hand slid under that untucked shirt. He felt the heat of a palm that wasn't quite touching the small of his back... and the warmth of fingers that were. They were hip-to-hip and thigh-to-thigh, with something round and resilient and very, _very_ familiar pressed up against his right elbow. A warm glow was stealing over him that had absolutely nothing to do with the contents of the flask.

His right arm, seemingly possessed of a mind of its own, moved up and over her head and came to rest on her shoulders, with that familiar roundness now resting against his side. At any other time, under other circumstances, and with some other woman, the natural progression of events would have been to go straight for the kiss... which was what every fiber of his being was commanding him to do. Other responses were kicking in, too. Now what? What was holding him back?

Further exploration was curtailed as—without letting go of their respective corners of the protective quilt—neither had a free hand... which frustrated Jess' natural inclination to touch and feel, to outline the contours of her face with his fingers. Ellie Jo turned her cheek into the inside curve of his shoulder and spoke softly.

"My grandmother had another name for the Strawberry Moon... she called it a Lovers' Moon. It would be a shame not to take advantage of it, wouldn't it?"

It was a deeply sensual kiss,lacking any sense of urgency, that seemed to last for minutes before they came up for air.

"We shouldn'ta done that," Jess said.

" _Carpe noctem,_ " Ellie Jo intoned.

"What's that mean?"

"It's Latin... it means seize the pleasures of the night without concern for tomorrow."

"But..."

"But what?" The second kiss lasted even longer, leaving them both breathless with unspoken desire.

"We'd best stop... before..."

"Before what, Jess?"

"Before... we can't..."

"Do you _want_ to stop?"

"No... but Andy'll be back soon and we..."

Ellie Jo chuckled. "Andy won't be back for awhile... you needn't worry about him tonight. He's in very good hands... literally."

" _What?_ Where is he?"

"Lucy's tent, most likely. Or mine, possibly... I wouldn't look for him before morning."

"Yours? But then, where will you... _oh!_ " Realization hit him in the gut. This wasn't an accidental or incidental encounter... but—apparently with connivance on Andy's and Lucy's part—a cunningly executed assault on his person. Not that he was putting up much of a counteroffensive. Or wanted to...

"What about the... uh... the other girls? What will they think?" he murmured.

"They'll think... _'Ooooh! Lucky thing!'_ "

"And Andy... Andy'll know that we..."

"I seriously doubt young Andy is overly concerned at the moment with what you and I might... or might not... be doing... or are about to do."

"About to do?"

"I certainly hope so... if I can ever get you off this rock and into the tent where I'm sure we'll both be more comfortable. Don't know about you but this wind is whistling right up my... well... it's getting awfully chilly, even for me."

Jess processed this information and concluded she had a good point. He was uncomfortably cold and his rear had gone numb. Every shiver made his ankle throb. There was no doubt whatsoever as to what the lady wanted... which happily coincided with what he wanted.

"I guess we should... uh... go in." Jess eased off the rock and balanced on his good foot. No use testing the other one to see if it could bear his full weight. He didn't think it would.

Ellie Jo also stood, bunching the voluminous quilt under one arm and handing him his walking stick. "Lean on me," she commanded, snaking an arm around his waist.


	31. Chapter 31

_Chapter 31:_ **THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN**

It was only twenty steps to the tent but it felt like a mile to a man hopping on one foot. They both had to crouch to enter, Ellie Jo backing in first with an arm extended to support Jess, who sank to one knee and collapsed onto his bedroll. Silvery moonbeams spilling through the retracted flaps provided dim illumination to the rest of the interior—barely enough for Ellie Jo to see that Andy's bedroll was separated from Jess' by a good two feet or more.

"This won't do!" she said, kicking off her mocs.

She flung the quilt in Jess' general direction before turning sideways to drag the other bedroll closer to the centerline, then covered it with the blanket they'd been sitting on plus the one Jess had been wearing.

"Move!"

"Move where?"

"Over here... I want to pull your bedroll alongside so we'll both be under the quilt."

"Okay."

As Jess elbowed his way over to the other bedroll, dragging the quilt with him, Ellie-Jo tried to shift out of his way, inadvertently treading on something that didn't feel like the canvas ground cloth...

"Ow... ow... that's my hand!

"Sorry! Sorry!"

A minor kerfluffle ensued as Ellie Jo, attempting to step over him, caught her foot in a fold of the quilt and tripped, sprawling on top of him. Jess mistook this as a signal for him to take the lead and reached out with both hands toward what he estimated was her waist, getting an armful of thigh instead. A foot popped him in the chin.

"Ow!"

"Wait! Wait! Let go..." Ellie-Jo's disembodied voice came to him from somewhere near his feet. "Let me close the flaps first."

"Oh... sorry..."

"You've got the wrong end anyway... let me turn around."

It was now pitch-black inside. Ellie Jo was crawling on her hands and knees trying to orient herself. One hand contacted what she was pretty sure was an ankle, which made a good trail marker to follow up to the shin, the knee, the thigh and... an obstacle. In that dramatic pause, Jess lay absolutely still... not even daring to breathe.

"Nice!" Ellie-Jo commented, before resuming forward progress. When she encountered an outstretched arm she figured she'd reached her intended destination and flopped down. The arm curled around and pulled her close. Another arm came around to complete the embrace, bringing the quilt over them both. A warm, mobile mouth descended on hers.

Jess tugged the top of the longjohns over his head while she busied herself with the drawstring on the bottoms, which took longer than it should have because he'd put a granny knot in it. Once the bow in the sash of Ellie Jo's chenille robe was undone, Jess was somewhat shocked to find nothing under it. Not a stitch.

After that it was all exploration and discovery, taking the time to map the landscape of each other's bodies. Many more surprises were in store for Jess, who reckoned himself a fairly competent lover. Ellie Jo's expertise proved equal to his own, as of course it would be—her forte being, after all, human anatomy and physiology. She introduced him to erogenous zones of which he'd been unaware and guided him to sensitive spots he would never have guessed existed.

One of the abilities Jess Harper prided himself on was the degree of self-control he was able to exert until he judged his partner was ready for him, having learned early on that the longer he could hold off, the more abundant and lavish would be her gratitude. On this occasion, he was conducting himself with even greater restraint than usual because the prelude was so much more delightful than he'd ever before experienced... he wanted it to last.

Just as he was gearing up to count coup, however... the unthinkable happened: He felt the unmistakable twinge that heralded the onset of a massive cramp in the calf of his bad leg. He froze, willing it to go away, to not happen. It happened anyway. Muscles that been little used in a week contracted violently in protest and he tried to stifle a howl of excruciating pain.

Ellie Jo had stopped moving when he did, sensing impending trouble moments before the hissing intake of breath told her it was already there.

"Jess... what's wrong?"

"Cramp... calf..."

"Oh hell!"

Forgetting he not only couldn't stand upright but wouldn't be able to put his weight on the bad foot, Jess instinctively propelled himself upwards—thwacking his head on the ridgepole and falling forward through the tent flaps, almost completely out of the tent.

Ellie Jo sprang into action, groping around for her robe and grabbing the quilt. She had to scramble over his naked body to get outside. Grabbing him by the arms, she literally hauled him upright and wrapped the quilt around both of them. Her instructions were firm and brusque...

"Hang onto the quilt and use the tent frame to steady yourself with your other hand..."

"Can't stand... ankle..." Jess moaned.

"Yes... you can. You have to. I'm going to try to massage the cramp out but you have to work with me, Jess. Keep your weight on your good leg. Don't let go of the frame."

Ellie Jo squatted and went after his calf with both hands, which might have _looked_ small and soft and feminine but were incredibly strong. It took maybe three minutes of ferocious kneading before the cramp ebbed, leaving Jess wrung out and shaking.

They retreated inside and Jess rested flat on his back, the sore leg slightly elevated by the now rolled-up robe. Getting him to take another swallow from the flask, which helped quiet him some, Ellie Jo lay propped on an elbow, using her free hand to stroke and soothe the still-trembling man. She knew enough psychology to gauge what was going through his mind at the moment, and to know that this was not the time for commiseration or words of solace. He'd have to work through it on his own.

"I'm so sorry, Ellie...this is real embarrassin'," he finally whispered, finding the roaming hand, squeezing it. "I ain't never had _that_ happen before."

"Don't be sorry... it was an inevitable response to the abuse you've been visiting on yourself this past week. Just be still for a few more minutes and you'll be okay." She delicately extracted her hand from his grasp.

 _Damn, damn, DAMN!_ Jess was thinking bitterly. _Just when I'm about to go for glory I turn into a circus clown!_ On the other hand, those soft consoling hands were very nicely continuing to go here, there and everywhere... and that second hit of grain alcohol was very, very nicely masking the aftereffects of the cramp.

Ellie Jo chortled in his ear. "Oh dear... it appears the train has left the station... but no worries, there'll be another along soon enough!"

As Jess' heart rate slowed and his breathing evened out and Ellie Jo's ministrations continued north and south, he even began entertaining the cheerful possibility that the rudely interrupted endeavor might not be totally irrecoverable.

Physically, Ellie Jo embodied everything he found desirable in a woman, not being a fan of sharp elbows, bony knees and knobby spines. Everything about her was smooth and voluptuous and her body fitted to his perfectly. Best of all, she exhibited none of the inhibitions he'd so often encountered in a society that promoted the belief that sex was dirty and shameful... something to be endured rather than enjoyed. There could be no doubt whatsoever that Ellie Jo was very much enjoying every aspect of their lovemaking. She laughed... and made him laugh. Her hands were never still.

If Jess could have peered into Ellie Jo's mind, he would have seen that she was thinking exactly the same about him... with a few additional considerations that she chose not to share just then... and maybe wouldn't share at all.

Release, when it came, sent them both into paroxysms of rapture. Jess felt he'd been transported to another dimension—all else forgotten in the most intensely pleasurable moment of his life. Every nerve ending he owned was tingling. If he died tonight—in this little tent in a high mountain meadow, in the arms of this woman who without reservation gave as good as she got—he'd die a happy man. He actually said this out loud and Ellie Jo laughed.

"Professor Wainwright... I believe you done ruint me for other women!" Jess said, stretching languorously until getting in return a warning twinge from his ankle. "You can stick me with a fork now. I'm done."

Ellie Jo laughed again. "Oh no you're not. Not by a long shot. We'll just rest a while and..."

"No... really. I'm done for."

"Well... we'll just see about that..."

And in the interval, while Ellie Jo plotted a renewed attack, a number of puzzle pieces suddenly fell into place...

Professor Wainwright had a number of arcane skills, including the ability to 'read' the topography of a human body the way a blind person read braille... even in the dark her fingers could distinguish scars and determine how they were probably acquired. She'd been astonished and somewhat saddened by the number of cicatrices she'd detected on Jess... most of them from bullet wounds. He was lucky to still be alive.

Attending to him earlier she'd of course already seen almost all his scars, including the one on the lower right quadrant of his belly, where a clean straight diagonal incision had been made and sutured. And suddenly she realized what the procedure had to have been—in fact, only two months ago, one in particular had been described to her in great detail... by her sister who'd performed the surgery.

How many young, handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed cowboys could there be roaming around Laramie, Wyoming with an appendectomy scar? She couldn't be sure... it could just be a gross coincidence... but something told her it wasn't. The thought made Ellie Jo chuckle. Jess' sleepy voice brought her back to earth...

"Somethin' funny?"

"What? Oh no... just thinking how wonderful this is... and how special you are..."

"Me? I ain't special..."

"Of course you are... you have no idea _how_ special!"

Ellie Jo rolled on top of him and kissed him. That was all it took to banish any thoughts of sleep.

Just before dawn, they finally drifted off with Ellie Jo spooned against Jess' broad back, listening to him breathe.


	32. Chapter 32

_Chapter 32:_ **NO RESERVATIONS**

Ellie Jo customarily arose around the same time every day... early enough to greet Venus before the morning star dimmed in the coming dawn. Stealthily extricating herself from the quilt-and-blanket nest without disturbing Jess, she retrieved her robe and made it to the front of her own tent where she cleared her throat to make her presence known to whoever might be inside.

"Just me," Katie's voice floated out. "Come on in... it's safe," adding, in response to Ellie Jo's questioning eyebrow arch, "I slept here again last night so Lucy... well, so they'd have a place to go and some privacy. Didn't think you'd mind."

Already half-dressed, Katie finished and waited until the doctor had changed into her working duds so that they could exit the tent together.

"Looks like we're stuck with breakfast duty," Ellie Jo grumbled, kneeling by the firepit to coax the coals back to enough life to start some coffee.

"Terry and Viva'll be out shortly. I heard them talking earlier."

Katie filled the pot and ground the beans while waiting for the water to boil. Ellie Jo fetched an armload of kindling and knelt down next to her.

"Tell me about Andy's brother."

"Slim, you mean? What do you want to know?"

"Does he look like Andy?"

"Not as I recall... although I haven't seen him since I was a little girl. No... he's quite tall, fair-haired. Bluish eyes. My father said he looked like his father while the other son—that would be Andy—took after the mother."

"Oh. I was hoping for a little more detail."

"Lucy stayed a few days on their ranch around two years ago. Why don't you ask her?" In her head Katie added, _'and why do you want to know?'_

"I will... if they ever come up for air!" Ellie Jo snorted.

Although she mostly had her back to the tents, Ellie Jo's excellent peripheral vision caught movement as someone eased out the front of Lucy and Katie's tent, snuck around the side and vanished into the shrubbery. A few minutes later Lucy herself stumbled out, yawning and tucking in her shirt, her hair a mare's nest of tangles.

Katie pointed at the big rock they'd dubbed 'Jess' Seat' and handed her a mug of coffee. Hauling out a comb from a vest pocket, she pointed it at their leader. "Doc has some questions for you... but not what you're thinking. Here, let me comb that out for you. Good grief. Might have to take the scissors to it!"

Ellie Jo strolled over with her own coffee and repeated her question. The little blonde looked up, bleary-eyed but grinning mischievously, and delivered a fairly accurate description of the lord of the Sherman manor.

"Probably the most striking example of _homo sapiens_ I've ever encountered," Lucy enthused.

"Is that a fact?"

"Oh yeah! Perfect male of the specie, just about. And in the short time I was in Laramie afterwards, I never heard a single soul say anything negative about him."

"How intriguing."

Lucy launched into a detailed account of the nuns' unorthodox introduction to the ranch and its denizens... soon having her audience choking with laughter and fanning themselves.

"Not only that..." Here Lucy got a crafty expression on her face, looking around to be sure they weren't being overheard and gesturing to the other two to draw closer. Her concluding words, spoken barely above a whisper, had Ellie Jo and Katie blushing like virgins.

"Lucinda Benton!" Ellie Jo sputtered. "And you a postulant nun at the time! You weren't supposed to be looking!"

"There was no way to avoid looking, Doc..." Lucy defended herself. "It was just... there. Reverend Mother said it was the most impressive specimen she'd ever seen!"

"And how would _she_ know...?"

"Reverend Mother got around before she took the veil, so she says."

As there was no sign yet of the other four girls, Ellie Jo announced she'd get started cooking while Katie finished currying the rats' nests out of Lucy's hair.

 _So... my suspicion is confirmed... without doubt these have to be the two men from Laramie with whom my sister was so taken! Slim Sherman can't be other than that outrageously good-looking rancher Emmie Lou described with such fervor—including, to put it delicately—his exceptional proportions. And her description of her equally-handsome appendectomy patient at the dance—restored to good health—fits Jess Harper to a tee. It falls far short of the mark, however... he's simply superb in every respect!_

Ellie Jo couldn't begin to imagine how she was going to explain all this to her sister next time they met. She'd have to tell her, of course... _before_ Emmie Lou made her next visit to Laramie... just in case she changed her mind about being interested in the blonde rancher and instead made a play for the other one... the one whom her elder sister had entertained last night—an awkward situation that was to be avoided at all costs!

 _In all fairness I should tell him about my sister... shouldn't I? Or maybe not... perhaps that would be too awkward for him. Or maybe later... just before he and the boy leave... or we leave, whichever comes first..._

Thea, Josie, Viva and Terry rolled out, following their noses to the coffee pot and skillets of frying bacon and scrambled eggs. Ellie Jo had to set aside her ruminations and attend to the business of breakfast and dispensing the day's instructions. Fun was fun but there was a time for that and this wasn't it. They had much more work to do before packing up and moving on to San Francisco.

 _Hypnopompia_ is the medical term given to the transition state inbetween full sleep and full wakefulness... that floating threshold of consciousness that most people experience when not awakened by loud noises or rude people. It wasn't a state Jess often had the leisure to enjoy at home... what with Aunt Daisy's internal alarm clock rousing her at the buttcrack of dawn, and her expecting everyone else to be up, washed, dressed and present at the breakfast table within the hour. If she judged they weren't moving with the proper alacrity, she wasn't above bringing that iron triangle right inside the house and clanging it so loudly outside their bedroom door that he and Slim both nearly fell out of their beds!

Eyes closed, Jess was floating ever so weightlessly and wonderfully, willfully suppressing the urgent need to get up and visit the bushes. He'd been having the most marvelous dream in which... _oh oh. Wait a minute. Back up here... was it a dream? Or has something really happened here?_ With extreme caution he slit open one eye, then the other and was presented with a view of tent canvas sloping up to a ridgepole. Bright sunlight peeped through a gap in the tent flaps and a tantalizing whiff of bacon was wafting in.

A slight turn of the head revealed indications of disarray... his bedroll and Andy's were jumbled together in the middle instead of neatly arrayed along opposing walls. He himself was buck naked under a foreign quilt they most certainly had not brought with them. The quilt itself exuded a faint scent of lavender. An empty green glass pint bottle with a cork in it lay nearby.

The last gossamer cobweb of sleep tore itself away. Mental gears engaged. Reality flooded in along with clarity of recollection and the inevitable biological response. Now he had two problems! Jess scrabbled around until he located his drawers. He really needed those bushes. Rats! The longjohn bottoms weren't providing adequate concealment!

Poking his head out the flaps to check if the coast was clear, a quilt-wrapped Jess made a beeline for the bushes. It was only on the return trip that he realized he hadn't given a thought to grabbing the crutch or the cane... or that twenty-four hours had passed without accrual of fresh injuries.

Jess'd never set much store by portents... good _or_ evil. Neither did he have much truck with fate... or _karma_ , as he'd heard it called. But it seemed a mighty powerful coincidence that such a miserable beginning to this high-country adventure of his and Andy's should have culminated in such sublime good fortune. For himself, anyway. He had no way of knowing for sure if this'd been Andy's first time because Andy'd never volunteered any information on the subject one way or the other, but Jess kinda thought it might've been.

One thing for sure... it was gonna be more than a little uncomfortable for both of them today—facing the female contingent with nonchalance when everyone knew who'd been with whom the night before. Oh well. Now that he was fully clothed there was nothing for it but to go outside and face the music.

Andy, only slightly bedraggled,was perched on the rock outside, waiting patiently for his partner to emerge. Whatever remarks he might've offered he kept to himself.

"How long you been here?"

"Saw you come out of the bushes. Figured I'd wait until you were dressed and we'd get our coffee together."

"Pretty sure we've missed breakfast."

"Lucy was late getting up, too. She said she'd fix us something." Andy nodded his head toward the girls' campfire where only one woman was visible.

"Where're the rest of 'em?"

Andy shrugged.

"Whatever Miss Ellie's got on the agenda today. Where's your stick?"

"Don't need it. C'mon... let's go."

Looking quite composed, Lucy had their mugs waiting for them when they walked up.

"You'll have to sweeten and whiten yourselves, and slice your own bread. Bacon's ready and I'll have these eggs done in a minute."

"Thanks, Miss Lucy," Jess said. "Sure is nice of you to cook special just for us."

"You're welcome... but there's a price to pay. You two get to do the washing up... for all of us!" She nodded toward the considerable stack of tin plates and cutlery. I've got to hurry and catch up with the group... we're doing a tree survey today."

"A what?"

"Katie's going to identify medicinal bark for us... the ones her people use..."

A half hour later Jess was seated on a long slab of granite, drying the first plate Andy handed up from where he was squatting at water's edge.

Jess chose his words carefully. "About what she said... _'there's a price to pay'_. Reckon you unnerstand it don't just apply to washin' dishes in return for bein' fed...?"

"I'm not sure I do, Jess... unless you mean money."

"No... no... I didn't mean money..." Jess exclaimed hastily. "I guess it would in some situations but not in this one..."

"What situation are you referring to, then?"

Jess face took on a peculiar hue and he was avoiding eye contact.

"Well... this one. Us. You and Lucy. Me and... Miss Ellie. Last night. What I'm tryin' to say, son... there ain't no free lunch."

"You're implying we're in debt to them? If not financially, then in what way?"

"I'm sayin'... when a girl... a lady... gives herself to you in _that way_ , you owe her in ways other than money. Your gratitude, for one thing. An' respect. You don't mess around with her feelin's. An' you don't make promises you don't intend to keep."

"What makes you think I don't already know these things, Jess?" Andy was torn between affront and amusement.

"Fact a the matter is, I don't _know_ what you know. That Lucy's a nice young gal an'..."

Andy stood up with a groan, signaling Jess to stop.

"Listen to me... I know you mean well but I don't need a lecture. Between you and Slim and Jonesy and Miss Emma I know more about responsibility than any dozen other kids my age."

"Just you remember you're too young to get involved..."

"Jess, please! I know _that_ , too. Let me set your mind at ease... Lucy and I talked about it. Don't you worry... we _do_ understand we live in two different worlds. We're just enjoying each other's company until it's time for us to go back to our _real_ lives."

"Well... okay... so long as you keep that in mind."

"I'm glad we got that settled," Andy concluded firmly. "Now, what do you want to do today? The girls will be gone all day..."

"I thought maybe we'd do a little fishin'?"

"Sounds like a plan."

They were fishing off a grassy bank...bare feet immersed in the cool water. A contorted birch arching over the bank provided deep shade. Lazy man's fishing, Jess said—bobbers, sinkers and worms... catch and release. Didn't need to keep anything with so much meat in camp they'd be doing good to eat it all before it spoiled.

Conversation was desultory as they each endeavored to steer away from the topic that had started out their day. However, it was still very much on both their minds as they lay up on the bank, alternately snoozing and rebaiting their hooks as the hours passed. Even Scout and Ranger were content to drowse head-to-tail under a tree, swishing flies. An especially warm and humid afternoon brought on a plague of mosquitoes toward evening. By that time the two were starving, fished out and bug-bitten. They made fun of each other's white, pruney feet as they struggled into their socks and mocs. Twilight descended as they ambled their mounts back toward camp.

"Jess...?"

"Yeah?"

"D'ya think that tonight... maybe?"

"I couldn't begin to predict what's gonna happen tonight, kid. Best thing is say nothin'. Ask nothin'. 'Spect nothin'. That way you won't be too disappointed if... well... if nothin' happens."

"Got it."

Rounding a corner in the path, Jess and Andy could see figures moving around the fire in the distance.

"Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"I know Lucy isn't the right one for me... but how will I... how does a man know when the right one does come along?"

"You just do, is all."

"That's how a grown-up answers a kid's question when he doesn't know the answer."

"I 'spose when you fall in love, then that means she's the right one... sometimes."

"With all those lady friends of yours, you've never been in love, Jess?" Andy asked slyly.

"Anybody ever tell you you ask too many questions?"

"Yeah... you... hundreds of times. So... what about Miss Ellie? You in love with her?"

"Maybe just a little. She's a mighty fine lady and I like her a lot... but..."

"But she's not the right one, either?"

"No, Andy. I reckon she ain't."

"So you're just gonna 'like her a lot' until they leave? Like Lucy and me?"

"Hope so, Andy. Sure do hope so. But like I told you... I ain't countin' on it."

Andy thought Jess sounded a little sad about that but sensed the conversation had come to an end... for now. They were about to rejoin the womenfolks, anyway.

As it happened, the evening meal proved to be a repetition of the night before although Ellie Jo wasn't _quite_ as distant. Neither was she any more attentive or suggestive, which struck Jess as odd, considering what had passed between them. He sure wasn't regretting any of it... but maybe she was. Maybe she was wishing nothing had happened. The distasteful notion crossed his mind that he might've been nothing more than a convenient solution to an itch that needed scratching. Or perhaps she'd just been curious and, now that her curiosity was satisfied, he was no longer of interest. It occurred to him that this might be how a woman felt who'd been used and then discarded without a second thought.

After Andy went off on another moonlight stroll with Lucy, Jess claimed fatigue and turned in, regretfully resigned to the likelihood of spending the night alone. Rooting around like a dog before finally achieving the right position with his face to the wall, he was about to drift off when a rustling at the tent flaps announced the presence of another. Too soon to be Andy returning. A whiff of lavender scent preceded a warm body sliding beneath the blanket and fitting itself to his, and a soft voice in his ear.

"My apologies for dropping in like this without first having made a reservation."

"No reservation needed... not tonight or any other night..."


	33. Chapter 33

_Chapter 34:_ **EPILOGUE**

The reverse trip home was accomplished without distinction, with stopovers at the Kelsos' trail shelter and ranch. They rode into Laramie on a sultry Sunday afternoon, passing through unremarked by the few citizens still out and about, and stopping by the jail for a briefing. Sheriff Corey was back on duty with his Nebraska business settled, and Slim had temporarily returned to the ranch while the board of commissioners was in recess. Avery Johnson was back in town at the helm of his livery stable, though he'd left his oldest boy Orrie to help out at the relay station. Martha Jackson and the two younger children were also still out at the ranch, as Aunt Daisy hadn't yet returned from Cheyenne.

Having concocted, perfected and rehearsed sixty miles' worth of cover stories, they were a little disappointed when they finally rolled into the yard only to be informed by Miz Martha that Slim and Orrie were off moving cattle from one pasture to another and wouldn't be back until tomorrow sometime. On the other hand, that gave them time to ease back into normality... unloading, unpacking, seeing to the animals, cleaning up themselves, and sitting down to one of Miz Martha's celebrated meals. That also gave them ample opportunity to try out some of their finely-honed little white lies on their _locum tenens_ housekeeper, her two children Anthony and Cleopatra, and Mike.

For weeks afterward Jess and Andy monitored each other by mutual consent in order to warn each other when one appeared to be wandering too far from the script. Jess revealed to Slim only those injuries that had produced new scars which the latter would be sure to notice. Fever, concussion and dog bite weren't brought up. The sprained ankle incident was attributed to being thrown from a fractious horse.

They decided to own up to the presence of other folks at the lake and hot springs... yes indeed, there'd been other fishermen and the occasional hunter—they'd shared campsites and fishing holes and meals. Everyone was civil and a good time was had by all. No... not anyone they knew from around here and they didn't expect to run into any of them later. Last names? Oh... gee... they really couldn't remember them... just their first names...

Jess and Andy made a pact between themselves to never, ever tell about what really happened up there in the Medicine Bow high country. If Slim ever suspicioned that he hadn't got the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth... why, he never let on.

In times to come, whenever Jess and Andy privately revisited that epic fishing trip—the highlights _and_ the lowlights, they were amazed all over again that Jess'd survived that unbelievable streak of bad luck. They agreed that their memories of the hours spent with Ellie Jo and Lucy were like unset gems in a jewelry box... fascinating to behold, but never to be displayed in public.

Though neither Jess nor Andy were aware of it at the time, their relative experiences imprinted them both with a degree of sensitivity, regard for women's intelligence and respect for women's rights that were quite out of the ordinary for males of that era. Everything that has ever been written about them by their descendants and other historians reflect this aspect of their respective characters. Slim was already pretty far along that trail, of course, and what he didn't already naturally know and practice he unknowingly absorbed from his brother and best friend in later years.

They were truly an extraordinary trio. Just ask any of the descendants of the women who knew and loved them!

************ FINIS ************

Thanks, and thanks and ever thanks to Beta Extraordinaire Sally Bahnsen. On the other hand, it was HER challenge and ongoing ruthless demands that led to this in the first place.


End file.
